They sell a load of crap, if we’re going to be honest with ourselves,

And yet we sit there late at night before the sleeping pills

Kick in and send us into sweet oblivion,

That time when minds are racing with the worries of tomorrow;

What the boss will moan about, and what the gossips say

Around the watercooler, with their furrowed brows,

Angry at the world for no reason I can see.

And so we sit at midnight watching QVC or Ideal Home

Or yet another channel selling diamond rings and pots and pans,

Then Skechers in five colours with culottes and kaftans,

Rubbish really, but I watch because it is hypnotic to the senses

With those voices smoother than those silky sheets they sell

At 1:26am, when all the world’s asleep,

But us, the anxious and the ill will doze until the sun will rise

And suave presenters come and go, they are my friends

Who keep me company when madness grips my soul.