Pad, pad, pad 

This corridor gets longer every time 

At least I’m getting my steps up 

I wonder when they’ll change those pictures 

They’re good – well, some of them 

But a change is as good as a rest? 

Pad, pad, pad 

Seems quieter tonight 

It’s almost as if I have this whole place to myself 

But I can smell the food 

Shepherd’s pie.  

It always smells like Shepherd’s pie! 

Pad, pad, pad 

In the bowels of this building there’s a giant chef 

Stirring and stirring a huge vat of steaming mince 

The sweat’s pouring off him, but he doesn’t stop 

Shepherd’s pie, you say? You want more Shepherd’s pie? 

He’s weeping into the cauldron now. I know how he feels. 

Pad, pad, pad 

Nearly there now 

I start fishing in the carrier bag  

For things I know she won’t need 

I’ll end up taking them home again  

But I won’t be taking her. 

Dave Pickering