| Sitting on the kerb
|
| You wipe the tears away again
|
| The gutter holds your sallow hearts
|
| That wash down with the rain
|
| Barbed and brittle hands that push
|
| The hair out of your eyes
|
| Pavement fires a-flicker
|
| Like a host of fire flies
|
| My song calls from the gutter
|
| And the gutter sings to me
|
| A roundabout of down and outs
|
| In cardboard box city
|
| My song calls from the gutter
|
| And the gutter sings to me
|
| A roundabout of down and outs
|
| A dark cacophony
|
| The wolven of the orphan gangs
|
| Take turns to search and steal
|
| They splash about the puddles
|
| And are trodden under heel
|
| They bathe their pearly faces
|
| In the lights of Chinatown
|
| And they lick their pearly fingers
|
| When the street lamps flicker down
|
| My song calls from the gutter
|
| And the gutter sings to me
|
| A roundabout of down and outs
|
| In cardboard box city
|
| My song calls from the gutter
|
| And the gutter sings to me
|
| A roundabout of down and outs
|
| A dark cacophony
|
| All night I’ve been up
|
| With the bitterest of thoughts
|
| I can’t seem to throw
|
| All my cares to the wind
|
| Makes me sleep feverish
|
| Makes me sleep scared
|
| Pillow of secrets
|
| And blanket of sins |