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Clive Gregson
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Salt
A man comes home from work one night
And expects to find his supper on the table,
But his semi-detached suburban hause
Is tunnel black and silent as the grave,
As he walks through the front door
The phome rings, it's his wife
calling from the airport,
She says ''Your dinner's in the oven,
That's the last time
I'll ever be your slave...'
Well the world keeps turning,
Making light of the gloom,
On the day we're born we're scarred for life,
Then we rub salt ino the wound...
A waman sorting laundry
Finds a letter in her husband's trouser pocket,
Reading between the lines
She starts to fight a losing battle with her tears,
Her sorrow turns to fury,
She picks up the phone
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and calls him at the office,
And to her ceTmplete amazement,
He admits he's kept a mistress there for years...
Still the world keeps turning,
Making light of the gloom,
On the day we're born we're scarred for life,
Then we rub salt into the wound...
When ordinary people lead ordinary lives,
It's called respectable,
when ordinary husbands leave ordinary wives,
It's called divorce...
The warld keeps turning,
Making light of the gloom,
On the day we're born we're scarred for life,
Then we rub salt into the wound...
On the day we're born we're scarred for life,
Then we rub salt into the wound...
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