Closer than close you see yourself -
A mirrored image of what you wanted to be.
As each day goes by a little more
You can't remember what it was you wanted anyway.
The fingers feel the lines they prod the space
Your ageing face the face that once was so beautiful,
is still there but unrecognizable
Private Hell.

The man who you once loved is bald and fat
And seldom in working late as usual.
Your interest has waned you feel the strain
The bed springs snap on the occasions he lies upon you
close your eyes and think of nothing but
Private Hell.

Think of Emma wonder what she's doing
Her husband Terry and your grandchildren.
Think of Edward who's still at college
You send him letters which he doesn't acknowledge.
'Cause he don't care,
They don't care.
'Cause they're all going through their own - Private Hell.

The morning slips away in a valium haze,
And catalogues and numerous cups of coffee.
In the afternoon the weekly food,
Is put in bags as you float off down the high street

The shop windows reflect - play a nameless host,
To a closet ghost - a picture of your fantasy
A victim of your misery - and Private Hell

Alone at 6 o'clock - you drop a cup
You see it smash - inside you crack
You can't go on - but you sweep it up

Safe at last inside your Private Hell.
Sanity at last inside your Private Hell.

Copyright: Universal Music Publishing Group
Writer(s): Paul John Weller