Sometimes all it takes
Is to stumble on an advert in a free local paper
And you're uptown auditioning
On the piano keys to the suits and ties
And on Saturdays
If anybody should ask
I'm in a daydream
You're in a piano bar
Playing 80s hits to the affluent class
And on Saturdays
While you're out taking requests
I'm in the living room with a cup-a-soup and the same old CDs
Sometimes all it takes
Is a drunken conversation with the local dilettante
And I'm in the allotment fad
With a bag of seeds and a kneeling pad
And on Saturdays
If anybody should ask
I'm digging trenches
You're in the piano bar
Playing all the hits for the to an affable crowd
And on Saturdays
I'm eating homegrown rubarb
While you're leading singalongs of some well-known songs under vast chandeliers
You're playing Glenn Campbell, Bananarama
The Pet Shop Boys and Frank Sinatra
While I'm home dusting record covers
You're out playing 60s classics
From The Supremes to Ella Fitzgerald
To the Carpenters, Dexys Midnight Runners
And people ask if you enjoy it
"Well, certainly, only I can't help feeling something's not quite right"
And if we spend our days papering over the cracks
We'll wake up one day and won't see cracks at all
And on Saturdays
I'm tired of sitting alone
And you're in the piano bar
Where the drunken tears will soon start to dry