Got a heart shaped swimming pool,
A broken heart in a swimming pool.

Big house and a running joke,
Big joke everybody can come and see.

Harp songs and happy ends,
You know they're dead but you still pretend.

Complain it hurts on the telephone,
Say goodbye, say you wont be home, not ever.

And the rein,
Of the vain,
Is a pain.

Singer's Hampstead home.
Waiting for the blows to fall.
They don't hurt at all.
Singer's Hampstead home.
Snoopers underneath the bed,
Born in Singers head.

He's coming home to his golden bath,

He only had blank lines to say,
Although he said them in a witty and stylish way.

And the rein,
Of the vain,
Is a pain.

Singer's Hampstead home.
Waiting for the blows to fall.
They don't hurt at all.
Singer's Hampstead home.
Snoopers underneath the bed,
Born in Singers head.

Singer's Hampstead home,
Going down the gospel road,
With all the old frauds and bores,
Singer's Hampstead home,
They will never have their fill,
Of sliding down their sacred hill.

And the strain,
On the rein,
Such a shame.