And here slip I, dragging one foot in the gutter
In the midnight echo of the shop that sells cheap radios
And there sits she, no bed, no bread nor butter
On a double yellow line where she can park anytime

Old Lady Grey, Crash-barrier Waltzer
Some only son's mother, Baker Street casualty
Oh, Mister Policeman, blue shirt ballet master
Feet in sticking plaster, Move the old lady on
Strange pas-de-deux, his Romeo to her Juliet

Her sleeping draught his poisoned regret
No drunken bums allowed to sleep here in the crowded emptiness
Oh officer, oh let me send her to a cheap hotel
I'll pay the bill and make her well, like hell you bloody will!
No do-good over kill, we must teach them to be still more independent