I watched from Farringdon as Satan fell; I’ve battled for my soul at Leicester Square; I’ve laid a ghost with Oystercard and bell; I’ve tracked the wolf of Wembley to his lair; I’ve drawn Heathrow’s enchantment in rotation; at Bank I played the devil for his fare; I laugh at lesser modes of transportation. I change at Aldgate East because it’s there.
The Waterloo and City cast its spell; I watched it slip away, and could not care, the Northern Line descending into hell until King’s Cross was more than I could bear; he left me there in fear for my salvation, a Mansion House in heaven to prepare: so why return to any lesser station? I change at Aldgate East because it’s there.
Three days beneath the earth in stench and smell I lay, and let the enemy beware: I learned the truth of tales the children tell: an Angel plucked me homeward by the hair, to glory from the depths of condemnation, to where I started long ago from where I missed my stop through long procrastination. I change at Aldgate East because it’s there.
Prince of the buskers, sing your new creation: the change you ask is more than I can spare; a change of spirit, soul, imagination. I change at Aldgate East because it’s there.
Bother, I've got it wrong again. Ballades are ababbcbc, not ababcbcb. I think this can be saved anyway.