Empty eyes,cap in hand,watch them stand.
The pride and joy of our great nation bumming coins outside St.Pancras railway station,boy 'if they could see me now'how the other half survive,turned up collars,downcast eyes and if you see them too,tell me please,what do you do,'walk on by' pass some time,give a dollar,throw a dime?
In the dockyard,broken down but once the busiest place in town sits Tony Green and he has seen years come and go,could tell your fortune from your palm and yet he's blind to his own fate,so he'll wait until the soup run comes and walk slowly with the other outcast tramps and bums,some who've had such different days and now like the docks are in decay and this is pride,the British way.

If it's true we live and learn and yet don't concern ourselves with others,sisters,brothers on their uppers,
what does that make us become?