Nightmares about Suburbia

I have nightmares about suburbia
Where I step out of my front door and have to walk up hill
Where there's no 24-hour garage within hangover walking distance
Where I have to say "good morning" in a friendly cheerful way
When I prefer not to talk to anyone at that time of day
As I tread through the gob and dog shit on the pavement

I have nightmares where, trapped in some leafy lego village,
I find my clothes all come from Gap and I work to pay a mortgage
Where for two weeks of the year I'm allegedly free
As I recover from the other fifty weeks
Of economic slavery

I dream that I drive a car like a tank
Down those nasty windy lanes
In deep wet drowned-in darkness
Fog
Poor visibility
I dream that I drive a Mercedes Benz
And so the dream ends
As I crash into a tree
And my dull suburban life flashes before me

The co-ordinated kitchen
Conran shop
Spice-racks, dinner-parties, barbecues
Westend shows and supermarket queues

My whole life like an advert for British Gas

And when I wake up
I try to shake off the nightmare
But it leaps out at me from everywhere
From massive billboard posters
From television, radio
From pictures in the papers, magazines
Come the ever-nagging images
Of my bad dreams