She touched his photograph for luck.
But one touch was never enough.
She had to touch it countless times.
One touch for all her crimes.
And by then it was half past one.
And the soaps will be on.
And there'd be a matinee.
And what was outside anyway.
In her sleep she whispers why don't they notice me?
How can madness seem so ordinary?

The man upstairs is banging a gong.
But the gong's inside his head.
And if he keeps perfectly still.
And does what the doctor said.
He can make it disappear.
Until the end of the day.
When he hears the girl downstairs.
And remembers why the gong is there.
In his sleep he whispers why don't they notice me?
How can someone's madness seem so ordinary?

The lovebirds peck at a cuttlefish.
As she prepares another dish.
That she will spend a silent hour.
Watching him nosily devour.
Then they go to the living room.
Which she calls the living tomb.
And she will wait for Sacha Distel.
To come and save her from this hell.
From his chair he's thinking why doesn't she notice me?
All she does is feed the birds and make the tea.

And nobody hears them crying.
Nobody hears them laugh.
Nobody shares their future.
And nobody cares about their past.
Deep in their souls they are screaming.
Mother Mary what have we done?
It's all gone very quiet inside.
The House Of The Setting Sun.