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Have you seen the old man in the closed down market, |
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Kicking up the paper with his worn out shoes? |
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In his eyes you see no pride, hand held loosely at his side, |
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Yesterday's paper telling yesterday's news. |
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Have you seen the old girl who walks the streets of London, |
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Dirtel hair and her clothes in raigs? |
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She's no time for talking, she just keeps right on walking, |
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Carrying her home in two carrier bags. |
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Than how can you tell me, you're lonely |
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Or 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. |
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In the all night cafe at quarter past eleven |
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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 outside the seaman's mission, |
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his memory fading like the ribbons that he wears? |
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And in this winter city the rain cries a little pity |
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for one more forgotten hero and a world doesn't care. |
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Than how can you tell me, you're lonely |
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Or 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. |
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Than how can you tell me, you're lonely |
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Or 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. |
