I have a little house,
Close to town, but not to the city,
Far from home, but near my family,
No water views, but so close to the sea,
I see, this is how my little life could be.

And I'm filling it with things,
Like furniture that I find on the street,
And all the special things I'd like to eat,
Pictures of people that I'd like to meet,
I'll meet them while I'm orbiting the world,
And it's so pretty, and so lonely.

My little love affairs,
Are all scheduled around the TV guide,
And my  life has all been plagiarised,
In an attempt to meet a harsh deadline.

I'd like to rent a wife,
Then rent a husband to keep her for life,
The three of us, we could be so happy,
Them with each other, and me [bad word] 
I'll see them off on a flight around the world,
And it's so pretty, and so lonely.

I could just die,
I might just die,
I could just die,
I might just die.

And at my funeral,
They will say: Tom, he was such a nice guy,
He went too early, but he went in style,
They'll play my music and then they will cry.

Then they'll have a little wake,
They'll drink bad wine and there'll be lemon cake,
And my mother's little heart will break,
And she'll say: wait there must be some mistake,
He can't be dead, take me instead.

Oh, but I'm not dead,
They tell me I'm not dead,
And they say that I'm not dead,
And that I won't die for some time.

I'm in my little house,
Just writing little songs to pass the time,
Which, incidentally, is 7:49,
So don't you worry, [bad word] fine, I'm fine,
Don't you worry, [bad word] fine, I'm fine,
Don't you worry, [bad word] fine, I'm fine,
Don't you worry, [bad word] fine, I'm fine,
Don't you worry, [bad word] fine, I'm fine,
I am just so [bad word] fine.