Rediscovery: From the 1983 American release of Matt Johnson's album Soul Mining. The version of "Perfect" here is an alternative version of the song that apparently displeased the great and talented Mr. Johnson to no end. I don't know why. The drums, the accordian, the marimbas, the trumpet, Matt Johnson's magical voice. Everything. This has always been and will always be one of my very favorite songs.
It's a chilly English winter and solitude
is never easy to maintain except when it rains
So I hang an empty smile beneath my empty eyes
and go out for a walk
The wet morning sun reflects off the paving stones
while a little dog barks its head off
In the distance
Oh, what a perfect day
To think about myself
My feet are firmly screwed to the floor
What is there to fear from such a regular world?
Passing by a cemetery I think of all the little hopes and
dreams that lie lifeless and unfulfilled beneath the soil
I see an old man fingering his perishing flesh
He tells himself he was a good man and did good things
Amused and confused by life's little ironies
He swallows his bottle of distilled damnation
People trot around with unseeing eyes
They're looking for something - it doesn't exist
The world we once knew is being eaten up by rust
No one has time for the past but still in God they trust
The future is now but it's all going wrong
Bodies good for nothing, but it's to nothing they belong
People say their prayers and some work hard
If you give them all your money, they'll give you their hearts
This town ain't getting like a ghost town.
It's getting like hell....