David Lewis Paget (22.11.1944 / Nottingham, England/live in Australia)
The Man with Another Face
Wherever I go, whatever I do
He follows me up the street,
I cross the road and he crosses it too,
We never actually meet,
He knows I know, it’s a waiting game
For I know he knows I know,
No matter how often I give him the slip
He’s there, where I get to go.
I have no clue what he wants with me
But he’s going to have to wait,
I often stop, and he walks on by
Or I hide by the garden gate,
Then just when I think the coast is clear
He pops up, out of the blue,
Or reads the paper and catches the bus,
Just as I catch it, too.
I try to pretend that he isn’t there
That I’m sitting quite on my own,
I don’t know whether he’s dark or fair,
I sit and play with my phone,
He seems to know when I’m getting off
He’s the first one off the bus,
And I’ve often thought to stay in my seat
But I don’t like making a fuss.
At work, I see him in offices
That are off the beaten track,
When I’m on my way to the novices
His eyes burn holes in my back,
If I take an early minute he’s there
Propped up by the factory gate,
Deep in a conversation with
A guy I thought was a mate.
I’m not going to let it get to me,
I won’t let him get me down,
I try to pretend he’s a nobody
When really, he’s such a clown.
He wears a million different suits
Is always changing his hat,
He walks a dog and he smokes a pipe
And he changes, just like that!
I thought I’d go to the police one day
To say he was stalking me,
They asked for a brief description, and
I said he was hard to see.
‘Just give the colour of hair and eyes
So that we can put on a trace.’
‘He’s always changing, he lives in lies,
He’s the Man with Another Face! ’
I saw the look that he gave the man
Who was slinking down in the hall,
I knew that I’d never be free of him
Surrounding me, wall to wall.
They put me here in a padded cell
Where at least I’m on my own,
But I still feel ill when he opens the grill
And his eyes burn through to the bone.
David Lewis Paget
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