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