Streets of London
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Have you seen the old man,
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in the closed-down market,
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kicking up the paper
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in his worn out shoes?
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In his eyes you see no pride,
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hand held loosely at his side.
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Yesterday’s paper telling yesterday’s news.
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So how can you tell me, you’re lonely,
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and say for you that the sun don’t shine.
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Let me take you by the hand and lead you through the streets of London.
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I’ll show you something to make you change your mind.
Have you seen the old girl,
who walks the streets of London.
Dirt in her hair and her clothes in rags?
She’s no time for talking
she just keeps right on walking,
carrying her home in two carrier bags.
In the all night cafe,
at a quarter past eleven,
same old man sitting there on his own.
Looking at the world
over the rim of his tea-cup.
And each tea lasts an hour
and he wanders home alone.
Have you seen the old man,
outside the seaman’s mission,
memory fading with
the medal ribbons that he wears?
And in our winter city
the rain cries a little pity.