Stars on Sunday

A man walked into a bar
And said: ooh
And the barman said
Ooh, where did you get that suit?

And the man said
Give me a drink
And the barman said: ooh

Closed circuit TV spins round
Zooms on a packet of cigarettes
Stays on the ashtray and fingernails

And the barman said: ooh
Maybe I just had a bad day
Program crashing, disenchanted
I hope nobody tries to get in my way
Solid traffic, faces frozen

She came home with cigarette papers
No compassion, just a companion
She was cooking a casserole empty
No connection to our problem

Closed circuit TV spins round
Zooms on a packet of cigarettes
Stays on the ashtray and fingernails

Closed circuit TV spins round
Zooms on a packet of cigarettes
Stays on the ashtray and fingernails

Ice on the window, hands on the wheel
The glove compartment holds a secret
Stars on Sunday, you on Tuesday
I don't know if you can ever hear me