The Chair

I sit inside my house ... I sit in my old chair
I stare out the window ... I don’t go anywhere
Martha boils the kettle ... Eventually she’ll scold
If you don’t get out of that chair ... Your coffee will be cold

For forty years I’ve sat here ... I don’t hear a word you’ve said
I’m not ignoring you... For I’m already dead

You really ought to talk to me ... There’s something you could say
If you don’t get out of that chair ... For sure you’ll waste away
I should call the doctor ... You’re looking deathly pale
You haven’t eaten for so long ... You’re looking rather frail

For forty years I’ve sat here ... I don’t hear a word you’ve said
I’m not ignoring you... For I’m already dead

What is it with that window? ... What do you see out there?
Why don’t you answer me? ... It’s not polite to stare
When was the last time you loved me? ...
Oh why won’t you come to bed?
You sit in that old chair ... I think you’ve lost your head

For forty years I’ve sat here ... I don’t hear a word you’ve said
I’m not ignoring you... For I’m already dead

You forgot my birthday present ... It’s the same excuse each year
You sit in that damn old chair ... Pretending not to hear
Martha gets so ticked with me ... She goes and gets a knife
If you don’t get out of that chair ... I’ll end your bloody life!

For forty years I’ve sat here ... I don’t hear a word you’ve said
You can’t really kill me... For I’m already dead.