Down there in Knightsbridge where the dead rich rub shoulders with the dirt poor and the older I get,the more down there I am.
And I go bummin' around,around old Strutton ground and even with New Scotland yard on the doorstep it's hard to feel safe, and so I shave off a minute or two of my breakfast, so I can get through the turnstiles at the station (though they call them barriers now) they're no barrier for me,I like to travel far and free.
But I'm lost in this city where the people don't see me,don't talk,they disturb me,it's like living in a cemetery among the dead and the disinterred and I am disturbed by the lack of affection that's shown by some sections of society.

I am the cream of the crop and once was the best of the best that this country had got but then I turned sour
and every hour that passes,every hourglass amasses more ammunition to fire at me..and stupidly so stupidly I insist I am free.
Someone is failing me and I should be sailing someplace where I could be free but I'm rubbing shoulders down in Knightsbridge and getting older every day.