Svante No. 3 song

SVANTE IN THE DEPARTMENT STORE

Often in shops of a quite normal size

Terror and panic I cannot disguise.

But when a department store’s doors I pass through

my self-discipline is put under the screw.

Here there’s too much, it’s all here by default,

from fine grand pianos to coarsest sea salt.

I came here for something I had to procure,

but what it was I’m completely unsure.

Soon all the goods start to swim past my eyes.

Both my ears roar. And my tongue changes size.

I point at things blindly before all goes black.

Pay up and frantically hurry off back.

Off to a pub where two beers and three snaps

save me from what would be instant collapse.

Then home to unpack what’s now in my string bag

though gooseflesh is all I can call my swag.

Never a thing I can put to some use.

Strange home utensils distinctly abstruse.

What shall I do with shoes too small by far,

a fine silver rattle and small-chequered bra?

Among the absurd things I now catalogue:

one warm dog’s blanket, but minus the dog.

A garden hose, but no flower bed in sight.

I wonder if this will go on all night –

Help! Give me strength! I am tempted anew

to the store’s bargain sale’s hullabaloo;

I waver and quaver and buy like a fool

a kennel, a topee – a whole swimming pool...

This is my evidence poignant and clear:

Wonderful bargains have all cost me dear.

So bind me, watch over me, dull me with wine,
and save me from sales and a total decline!