This house is full of loneliness
Of sad weary silence
I switch on the television
For some company

Two actors
A man and a Woman
Give exaggerated little moans
As they simulate

A so called stimulating fuck
For my entertainment
Beneath the endless groans

It's not real
It's pretend
Just like we pretended that last time
To make you

Night is the most difficult part off all
I don't need this
I don't need this
I don't need this

This vile, crude reminder
Of how we play out our roles
Without any script at all