( written 22/4/1980,  backing track 5+6/8/1983,  vocals and harpsichord 2003 ~ 2:39 )
Frank's in one of his peculiar moods again.
I wouldn't go near him if I was you.
He's been like this all day and there's nuffink they can do.
He sits in a corner and stares at the ceiling;
Says he hears voices in his head,
And now he's started eating the blankets off his bed.

He plays the game so beautifully, ain't nobody realise.
They can't see past the lunatic expression in his eyes.

The doctors have tried to communicate with him.
I've heard 'em mentioning ECT,
But that don't bother Frank - he's beyond reality.
Every one of us thinks he's wonderful:
A shining example to the rest of the boys.
We know he's only playing and the wardens are all his toys.

His nervous system's shot to hell.  His brain's behind a wall.
There's no point in trying to get through to him because there's nobody there at all.

I've been watching his every movement.
I've got it written in a little book.
And nobody - not even you - can look.
'Scuse me if I seem a little distant:
It's only that I'm far away.
I'm practicing to be like him one day.