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letra de the english eccentric - sean filkins

there’s a man in a cool orange t-shirt
but the yellow airwair just don’t match his eyes
everybody says he’s trying. “very trying”
but he often sits and cries
he says he’s only human, and cannot cope with people’s indignation
he says he’s great at seven/eight
it’s five/four that takes all his concentration
and he’s always looking at the world through a pair of rose tint gl-sses
never doing any wrong or so it seems
but he won’t walk under ladders on the thirteenth day
and the cracks in the pavement are like lines of doubt appearing round his eyes

he stares out of his picture window
the perfect cottage garden in the suburbs
he says he’s got green fingers, which don’t disguise his urge for nicotine
there’s a mannequin in the summerhouse, called lucy
a remnant from his sister’s old boutique
he changes her look each sunday, but recently the conversation’s dulled

and he’s always looking at the world through a pair of rose tint gl-sses
never seeing any wrong or so it seems
but he won’t walk under ladders on the thirteenth day
and the vision in the mirror sees the lines of doubt appearing round his eyes.,
he can’t escape that nagging feeling deep inside
the gnawing, twisting, vengeful little demons of the past
remembering the first time, when he fell in love at sixteen
she was underage
he always knew her father knew and still can’t come to terms with how they lied
her father said he’d k!ll him, if he tried again

then there’s his favourite rainbow, reflections from his memory
a shard of gl-ss from mother’s chandelier
daddy left for war. they’d always hoped that he’d return
but nothing could repair their shattered hearts
and he’s always looking at the world through a pair of rose tint gl-sses
never seeing any wrong or so it seems
but he won’t walk under ladders on the thirteenth day
and the cracks in the mirror see the lines of doubt appearing round his eyes

he used to love his sunday league
his mother said “the best defender that she’d ever seen”
that was before he wiped his boots on her souvenir from windsor
the tea towel that she swore she’d never clean
always starting conversations, by asking inane questions about his life
just as if for a friend
never owning up to inadequacies, on his merry-go-round in the garden
riding in all weathers to the end

and still he stares through lifeless eyes, at his world with rose tint gl-sses
denying all the wrong in what he sees
and the girl he kissed is married now with a family of her own.
and the cracks in the mirror hide the lines of doubt appearing round his eyes

- sean filkins

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