Sangtekst: Richard Thompson. Front Parlour Ballads. A Solitary Life.

Sometimes I long for the solitary life
Parents long gone, no kids, no wife
Sister somewhere in Australia
Never did keep in touch
Sex no more than a how-do-ye-do
With a copy of Tit-Bits in the loo
Socially a bit of a failure
Nice not to have to try too much

A Solitary Life
A life of small horizons
Dull as the pewter sky over North West Eleven

A serious hobby in the garden shed
Model trains, or soldiers in lead
Join the suburban boffins of Britain
Experts on trivial things
And holidays in the Yorkshire Dales
Or cycling tours of the North of Wales
Unenvious of those flea-bitten
On continental flings

A Solitary Life
A life of small horizons
Dull as the pewter sky over North West Eleven

Excitement comes by subtle means
The satisfaction of routines
Small revenges at the office
Smug little victories
You work on your pallor, complexion like paste
Like the grey defeat on an inmates face
A life spent adding losses and profits
Resigning by degrees

A Solitary Life
A life of small horizons
Dull as the pewter sky over North West Eleven

And come to the end, sad and alone
A steady reliable tumour you?ve grown
From selfish years, while all your peers
Have stressfully jogged to health
In life you always were quite numb
And foggier now, you soon succumb
In drab St. Barts on the new by-pass
Death overcomes by stealth

A Solitary Life
A life of small horizons
Dull as the pewter sky over North West Eleven