Seance

Can you contact my dead wife, is she still here?

Y'know, yesterday I'm sure I could feel her here

And I'm left with two pubic kids and all that entails

And the furniture moves and the lighting fails

Am I falling for illusions, going off the rails

I've got a little cash put by for the sale

I'll make contact

Sinister, gray-haired, dark-coated man

We sit round the dining table, holding hands

Please give me a word from her if you can

Is she happy in Heaven or in Hell getting tanned?

I just need her presence to carry on

Don't tell me that I'm mad, don't tell me that I'm wrong

To make contact

Now I don't know if you lie but she's nowhere to be found

Perhaps you didn't really try, maybe her spirit's not around

But now I know she died, she's just rotting in the ground

And I'm no longer crying, I've heard the purest sound

So arrogant, charlatan, greedy old man

Get out of my house as quick as you can

I'll draw back the curtains and switch on the light

And cut your ugly exploitation from my sight

But there's a chilling silence as I walk down the hall

The kids have run away, held in the city's thrall

So tell me, mystic madame, is there hope for me at all?

In our contact

In our contact