Landlord
This song is about stress and mental illness, maybe schizophrenia. There is certainly paranoia and fear in the lyrics, but it is mixed with confusion and a list of bizarre happenings. The subject just wants some calm, but they are too busy rationalising their existence to their alter ego. The landlord in question might be another personality in the same mind, but it’s deliberately obscure. The Landlord could easily be changed to a she and refer to the subject as “girl”, not “son” for a female singer. The Queen could be lunching with almost anyone with a three syllable name. I wrote it as Clint Eastwood originally.
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I don’t need another weekend funeral
As time goes forwards it just gets too long
My body feels all scattered and it’s so unusual
Everybody’s coming on so strong
I can’t take another psychedelic daydream
The last couple were a little grim
I’m running back and forth down the rows of bodies
But at least the chrysanthemums are settling in
I’m going crazy cos I need you, when I moved in with my landlord
He said, “son don’t you worry, it’ll all be fine.”
Well he doesn’t know you and he’ll soon be sorry
I just hope my psychiatrist can find the time
I’ve been existing on my nervous energy
The goldfish and the hamster need to make a stand
The acid in my dinner makes me feel like Walt Disney
Now Arial’s the singer in my alt rock band
I need a mortgage and a family, don’t give me revolution
My nine to five goes from six to eighteen
My financial adviser’s just gotten out of nappies
And Donald Trump is having lunch with the Queen
I’m going crazy cos I need you, when I moved in with my landlord
He said, “son don’t you worry, it’ll all be fine.”
Well he doesn’t know you and he’ll soon be sorry
I just hope my psychiatrist can find the time
© Rupert Webb 2019
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