And here slip I --- dragging one foot in the gutter ---
|
in the midnight echo of the shop that sells cheap
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radios.
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And there sits she --- no bed, no bread, no butter ---
|
on a double yellow line --- where she can park anytime.
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Old Lady Grey; crash-barrier waltzer ---
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some only son's mother. Baker Street casualty.
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Oh, Mr. Policeman --- blue shirt ballet master.
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Feet in sticking plaster ---
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move the old lady on.
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Strange pas-de-deux ---
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his Romeo to her Juliet.
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Her sleeping draught, his poisoned regret.
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No drunken bums allowed to sleep here in the
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crowded emptiness.
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Oh officer, let me send her to a cheap hotel ---
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I'll pay the bill and make her well - like hell you
|
bloody will!
|
No do-good over kill. We must teach them
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to be still more independent.
|
|
-----------------
|
Crash-Barrier Waltzer
|
| Jethro Tull |
