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Hard to Be Human Lyrics
I made a mistake
When I looked over my shoulder
Cromwell was right behind me
In the driving rain
I came out of the bathroom
Looking for my ticket
It's hard to be
Hard to be human again
Well I've been punched and beaten
Though it never shows
I'm going up to Sheffield
I don't know when I'm coming home
He took me in a corner
And I don't know why
I was looking for a friend
He shaved me dry
Never been in trouble
Don't call me on the phone
Put the blower in the bathroom
Burn the house and start from scratch
Searching for existence with my red, red wine
It's hard to be
Hard to be human again
There was a caravan
Leaving in the dusk
I saw a man hold a chicken to his head
I'm telling you baby
I go up and I come down
It' hard to be
Hard to be human again
When I looked over my shoulder
Cromwell was right behind me
In the driving rain
I came out of the bathroom
Looking for my ticket
It's hard to be
Hard to be human again
Though it never shows
I'm going up to Sheffield
I don't know when I'm coming home
He took me in a corner
And I don't know why
I was looking for a friend
He shaved me dry
Don't call me on the phone
Put the blower in the bathroom
Burn the house and start from scratch
Searching for existence with my red, red wine
It's hard to be
Hard to be human again
Leaving in the dusk
I'm telling you baby
I go up and I come down
It' hard to be
Hard to be human again
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"I came out of the bathroom Looking for my ticket It's hard to be Hard to be human again"
"He took me in a corner And I don't know why I was looking for a friend He shaved me dry"
These lyrics suggest a social comedy set in a gay bath house. Not in 1970s San Fran, though... definitely in 1980s Sheffield, with all the political and social context which this implies (see also 'Ghosts of American Astronauts' for a 1970s American mythos overlaid onto a northern British landscape).
"I saw a man hold a chicken to his head"
Clear echo of Spitting Images' 'The Chicken Song', and hence some oblique, self-referential and ultimately sympathetic comment about the absurdity of proletarian leisure.