Cancer? Cancer? I dream of cancer
Cancer can eat my bones
Oh, lucky I would consider myself
To be racked by cancerous moans
A fate more evil, a life more lost
The devil for me foresaw
Imagine the day I woke to find
The Milats had moved next door

Was I a man of the bourgeoisie?
Ha! Of course I was more than that
I was a latte drinking, clever thinking
Documentary making prat
I ran my own film company
I was an artist, I was sure
Then I heard my neighbour say
"I'm Alex Milat, I'm in next door"

My films explored the evil side
Of Mankind's unknowable self
My kids all went to private schools
My wife, she bloomed with health
The critics applauded my visual style
And my dissection to the core
Of the Freudian, Jungian evil id
Then the Milats moved next door
Ivan, of course, was doing time
But his brothers are all free men
"There's me, there's Walter," said Alex Milat
"And Richard – in all, there's ten
Me and the wife moved in last week
And when Richard's coming we're unsure
You like films? Well, I'll bring over some… shots
Wink, wink... we only live next door"

A shadow, a pall, hung over my days
The first weeks after I found out
The bruschetto was off, the antipasto stale
At the cafes where we'd all hang out
"It's good for your art," said my cameraman
"They're just the sort your films explore"
"Fuck my films," I told Toby, "you pretentious git
My fucking films don't knock on my door"

My wife was a painter, sculptor too
Her studio was set up at home
"I can't stay here," she'd scream at me
"It's impossible to work alone"
Her exhibition was coming up soon
A review in The Age for sure
"Just stay calm," I'd scream, so loudly, too
I bet you they could've heard next door
A couple of months after they came
I got a call from my children's school
"Your daughter's been caught smoking pot
And your son's started playing the fool
The counsellor's asked them both to say
If their home is quite safe and secure"
By his tone I knew straight away
He lay the blame right at my door

So my next film was a critical flop
For the first time in my career
"He seems to have lost his ability
To show evil up close and near"
I read that review and I gave a laugh
Fucking critics always think they know more
But fucking critics should try living up close
To the people who live next door

Toby left me the very next month
To shoot a Gillian Armstrong flick
"You know," he told me when he left
"I always thought you a softcock prick"
Funding dried up, grants turned down
My wife couldn't take any more
"I'm leaving," she said, "I'm getting out
I can't live with them next door"
But the way she said it and how she left
I knew the Milats were her excuse
She married a successful film artist
Not a failure; the final proof
Came when I heard three months later
She'd moved in with some director bore
Whose film was at Cannes, she was gone
But I couldn't blame the people next door

My children, they left to go to some alternative school
Where all the hippy children go
After that, we sort of lost contact
I last heard from them two years ago
I got a job in advertising
Shooting commercials – on video, what's more
No Super 8, only mainstream crap
Designed for the people who live next door

And yesterday came my greatest shock
Oh, truth comes bound in pain
I went to next door's intercom
And asked for Alex Milat by name
"Who?" said a voice, incredulous
"Why, they're not living here no more
They moved out nearly two years ago
Hey, aren't you the weirdo who lives next door?"

No matter how easy or sweet life is
Be sure, your life will change
There is a shadow hangs over us
That leaves none of us the same
There is another person waiting to come
Buried in your deepest core
You'll be found out – who you really are
Lives behind your very own door