Frank - Part 3

He forced his eyes away from it. The factory wasn't safe. Whatever this thing really was, he needed another place. Velvet inside the guitar case, guitar case in his hand, Back through familiar Glasgow streets to everything he'd planned. Shettleston. His little flat. The meter still had power. Stale coffee, powdered milk, his own chair for half an hour. Six months of prison disappeared inside that battered room. Except the guitar case beside him seemed to fill the place with something he couldn't see. [Refrain — quiet] Don't open it. Not yet. There are things you've got to do. Don't open it. Not yet. But Frank already knew... Sooner or later, he would. [Verse 3 — Ordinary Things] Four missed calls from Gerry. Parole officer too. A spare key to recover. He hid the case above the coats, behind directories and paint, Then went to see his officer and tried to look like a saint. "Keep yourself out of trouble, Frank. Six months will fly on by." [Verse 4 — Gerry] Gerry opened up the door, big beard and balding head, "Never touched your dodgy mags, whatever anybody said." Then Gerry threw a Special Brew. Frank looked down at the can. Twelve months for the third time. "Nah. I'll get some Tennent's. Don't fancy going back inside. First bloody night of freedom— I'd quite like to remember mine." [Instrumental — warmer, almost pub-rock feel] Eight cans of Tennent's, 2. pints of milk, Scratch cards, crisps and familiar streets. And halfway back from the corner shop, Frank stopped. Someone was watching him. Or maybe... no one was. [Break — single guitar pulse] Paranoia. That's all. You've just got out. That's all. He looked behind him. Nothing. So he carried on. [Verse 5 — The Door] They drank until the evening had washed six months away. Stories became louder with every empty can. Frank staggered home through Glasgow, kebab inside his hand, Reached his little doorway— and something didn't scan. Key into the mortice. Turn. Push. Light. Then— Drawers open. Cushions scattered. Everything disturbed. Frank dropped what he was carrying. There was only one thing in the world. [Build] The case. He ran towards the cupboard. The case. Dragged the ladder from the wall. The case. Reached above the hidden shelf— Nothing. His stomach fell. Then— His fingers touched the handle. [Chorus — heavy] Facets within facets, colours without names, Somebody came looking— but did they know the game? Facets within facets, hidden out of sight, Someone walked into his home in the middle of the night. No broken door. No shattered glass. No damage to the frame. Somebody had entered like somebody had a key.