Recession - a perfect fit,

Makes no difference where he sits,

Not since they cut the ties,

Put some sadness in his eye.



Promises - come and go,

Soak the sun in drifts of snow,

A qualified butt-collector,

Working for the private sector.



He's seen them go,

Without a trace,

This could be it,

The perfect place.



They took the plans from up my sleeve,

By an architect, on New Years Eve,

There it goes, a new bronze tower,

Washed away with an April shower.



He's seen them go,

Without a trace,

This could be it,

The perfect place.



But, when you've gone,

I'm still here, the only one,

My eyes and my ears, 

Will be here 'til I'm gone;

And it's still the perfect place,

To rest a tired and weary face,

And it's still the perfect place,

To lose your soul with a trace.



A lived-in face, with a root,

of matted hair, a smiling tooth,

A dirty hand, a pixies nose,

Scratches underneath his clothes.



He's seen them go,

Without a trace,

This could be it,

The perfect place.

He's seen them go,

Without a trace,

This must be it ...