Ian Copesick

Suburbia

I stand in my garden and look around
Who knows what happens in these small towns
Behind the curtains in suburbia
Who really knows what happens here?

The mild mannered man you meet on your stroll
Could have 5 Japanese, plastic sex dolls
Behind the curtains in suburbia
Who knows what could happen here?

The fat, jolly woman to whom you say “Hello”
Her husband could be buried under the patio
Middle class suburbia
Anything can happen here

The next door neighbour’s curtains twitch
In her spare time she’s a witch
Pentagrams in blood on the laminate floor
As she chats to the woman next door
She leaves a note for the milkman
Then she sells her soul to Satan

Behind the curtains in suburbia
Who knows what could happen here?

It’s not like in the rough council estates
Where people are driven by fear and hate
The sheer boredom of suburbia
Breeds evil things that happen here

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