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He had a life full of pain, lived a life full of hope |
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Stayed in bars drinking jars of Irish whiskey on the run |
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In a world full of tears, in a world of mistrust |
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He just lived on borrowed time and wasted all these precious years |
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Another day of agony, another night in hell |
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He hit the bottom of the barrel, saced by the bell |
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They grabbed him, they punched him, they slapped him in the face |
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He stumbled, he tumbled, he felt like a disgrace |
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A dirty shirt, a lousy cap, oh, what an ugly sight |
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No money in his pockets, all stolen in a fight |
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His memory lapsed on his way to Portobello Lane |
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He stuttered, he uttered, he crawled through the rain |
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A bloody nose, blind in one eye, with demons in his head |
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Beggars can't be chosen, he's completely in the red |
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He drew a blank, went down the drain, was down in the dumps |
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The cards were stocked against him, lost all his bloody trumps |
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...such a shame! |
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...down the drain! |
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...what a game! |
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...a bloody game! |
