Jan 2016
There’s an young man sleeping rough close to my home,
He cups his hands up to me, begging just for 20p,
So he can call a girl that he used to know,
But it means nothing to me,
He’s cold and starving, I told him to let her go,
He said no, and I said no.
I always see him singing, of his love and how he won’t give up her,
Even if she’s left him out at sea,
He’s lost his lover, but it means nothing to me.
There’s a young man walking on his way to work alone,
Hands in his pockets, playing with a 20p,
That he needs for nothing, don’t you see,
That that means something to me,
I say I need my baby, I want to tell her I need to come back home,
But he said no.
I can’t stop singing; I’m fed and kept warm by this love of hers,
Even if she’s left me shipwrecked and out at sea,
I’ve not lost my love, not really, and that means something to me.
I walk to work, same way I always do,
I go past where you should be laying, but there’s just an empty cup,
A tattered sign where you should be, saying, ‘I’ve not given up’,
And that means something to me,
I’m so **** sorry, I don’t know if you ever got back home,
I hope so.
A few years later there’s a man waiting on the cliffs of Dover,
Just looking out to sea,
He says he’s lost his lover, and he needs to search where she left me,
But it means nothing to me.
He’s old and shaking, I told him to go back home,
He said no.
He starts crying into a worn out handkerchief,
He walks over to me, begging just for 20p,
And that means something to me.
The young man I once knew, looking for his lover,
Had grown grey all alone, always waiting for that 20p,
For the telescope to find the girl he used to know,
Never gave up hope, but did not know where to go,
And that meant everything to me,
I’m so **** sorry, for not helping you back to land,
I put one hundred 20p’s into his hand.
One hundred 20p’s into the machine later, and finds nothing,
I walk on over to him, give him my last 20p,
And he looks one last time out to sea.
The old man thanks me, for helping after all,
We walk away together, and suddenly there’s a call,
It’s the girl he used to know,
Shouting his name from a boat fighting the tides relentless pull,
She screams I’m so **** sorry, she’s searched the seven seas,
It means everything to me,
To see him get back home.
And I go.
But I’ve not got 20p to get back home.
But that means nothing to me.
He cups his hands up to me, begging just for 20p,
So he can call a girl that he used to know,
But it means nothing to me,
He’s cold and starving, I told him to let her go,
He said no, and I said no.
I always see him singing, of his love and how he won’t give up her,
Even if she’s left him out at sea,
He’s lost his lover, but it means nothing to me.
There’s a young man walking on his way to work alone,
Hands in his pockets, playing with a 20p,
That he needs for nothing, don’t you see,
That that means something to me,
I say I need my baby, I want to tell her I need to come back home,
But he said no.
I can’t stop singing; I’m fed and kept warm by this love of hers,
Even if she’s left me shipwrecked and out at sea,
I’ve not lost my love, not really, and that means something to me.
I walk to work, same way I always do,
I go past where you should be laying, but there’s just an empty cup,
A tattered sign where you should be, saying, ‘I’ve not given up’,
And that means something to me,
I’m so **** sorry, I don’t know if you ever got back home,
I hope so.
A few years later there’s a man waiting on the cliffs of Dover,
Just looking out to sea,
He says he’s lost his lover, and he needs to search where she left me,
But it means nothing to me.
He’s old and shaking, I told him to go back home,
He said no.
He starts crying into a worn out handkerchief,
He walks over to me, begging just for 20p,
And that means something to me.
The young man I once knew, looking for his lover,
Had grown grey all alone, always waiting for that 20p,
For the telescope to find the girl he used to know,
Never gave up hope, but did not know where to go,
And that meant everything to me,
I’m so **** sorry, for not helping you back to land,
I put one hundred 20p’s into his hand.
One hundred 20p’s into the machine later, and finds nothing,
I walk on over to him, give him my last 20p,
And he looks one last time out to sea.
The old man thanks me, for helping after all,
We walk away together, and suddenly there’s a call,
It’s the girl he used to know,
Shouting his name from a boat fighting the tides relentless pull,
She screams I’m so **** sorry, she’s searched the seven seas,
It means everything to me,
To see him get back home.
And I go.
But I’ve not got 20p to get back home.
But that means nothing to me.
