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| Pete Atkin sings
The Commercial Traveller by Clive James and Pete Atkin, [Much more at www.peteatkin.com] |
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| LYRIC: | |||||
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Home early from a meeting of the reps He leaves the cream-bath samples in the car A pull-along gorilla guards the steps Confusion leads to where the children are At the sandpit In the garden He wades into the kitchen through the toys His wife leans to kiss him with a smile And neither knows how much distance led to this How long the while Since on the sand spit In the morning The hero Lay asleep Until The nymph adored him The early dawn was baby-lotion pink And softer than the suds of Infacare She laved him of his brine and saw him blink He woke to see the sunburst in her hair And be her captive Always He hails the children playing in the sand He solves the padlock on the garden shed A giant bow should be waiting for his hand But there instead Lie all the implements Of duty For centuries Employed By the prisoner On his island He plants the hose and sets the nozzle fine Embellishing his roses with the spray And rainbows of a sea as dark as wine On which he will never sail away He will never sail away He will never sail away | |||||
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