Sometimes he was playful and he'd roll a ball.
She'd fetch it and she rolled. They'd ball.
She'd grin, she'd bear it,
closed her eyes and thought of processed peas,
the price of cheese, and adverts on T.V.
So he'd squeeze a little harder - 'til it hurt.
And she thought of scars, she thought of burns;
across her arms, a bursting heart and burning hate.
There's always hate. There's always pain.
A creeping stain across the linen that she'd lie in.
Night out, night in. Every night the same.
They'd stay in - saying nothing.
She thought of knives,
of paraffin around his chair a careless cigarette.
Forget it! He said how she had to keep things clean...
Lick the carpet, dust the dog.
Mow the windows, shine the socks.
You've got to keep things clean!
