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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 papers with his worn out shoes |
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In his eyes you see no pride |
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Hands 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 |
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And lead you through the streets of London |
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I'll show you something |
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To make you change your mind |
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Have you seen the old girl |
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Who walks the streets of London |
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Dirt in her hair and her clothes in rags |
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She's no time for talking |
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She just keeps right on walking |
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Carrying her home in two carrier bags |
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In the old night cafe at a quarter past eleven |
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The same old man sitting there on his own |
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Looking at the world over the rim of his teacup |
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Each tea lasts an hour, and he wanders home alone |
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Have you seen the old man |
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Outside the seaman's mission |
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Memory fading with the minor ribands that he wears |
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In our winter city the rain cries little pity |
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For one more forgotten hero |
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And a world which doesn't care |
