I walk along the strand
  to catch the late ride home.
  Shuttle through the evening gloom
  knowing I forgot to phone.
  The back door's open.
  There's a chill blowing in.
  Take your warm hands off me.
  Let the night begin.
  Shush your mouth.
  Listen to me.
  I won't say nothing --
  Just let me be your
  Toad in the Hole.
  Kicking through the wet leaves lying
  all along the station road.
  Past tired graffitti wailing,
  raw emotion to unload.
  There's coal in the fireplace
  and money in the bank too.
  Deep-pile carpets, tinsel wallpaper.
  Still got the back room to do.
  Don't be late.
  Got a day's work behind me.
  Feel a little devastated
  but my nights are assigned
  to you.
  No tom-cat creeping, now
  could ever be so bold
  to hang around our place tonight
  when I come in from the cold.
  There's a straight-six in the garage
  and some fine wine to cool.
  Labour-savers in the kitchen,
  room in the garden for a pool.
  Shush your mouth.
  Let imagination run
  here in bed-sit heaven
  where all the best wishing's done
  to warm Toad in the Hole.