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It's like Saint Valentine's Day |
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at the sugar candy store |
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where the barman lays |
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on the bloodstained floor |
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with all the wines |
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and the cocktails |
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he won't be serving anymore |
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to the swingers |
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and the roustabouts |
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and the carnivore queen |
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who's looking for the 3 scrooges |
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who are nowhere to be seen |
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and life's just a bowl of cherries |
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for the fruit machine |
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THE TAKING OF PECKHAM |
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1 . . 2 . . 3 . . 1 . . 2 . . 3 . . |
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Fifteen men on a dead man's chest |
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they robbed him blind, |
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then dumb. |
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and then deaf |
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and they left him there bleeding |
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on the pavement to die |
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and he went to that |
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great high-rise block in the sky |
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And the hands that do the dishes |
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feel as soft as your face |
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then they rob you of your pension |
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and they ransack your place |
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still, you try to forgive |
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like the baby Jesus did |
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though it's so hard to be a saint |
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in the flats where you live |
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And you'll live there forever |
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and the day that you die |
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when you'll go to that |
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great high-rise block in the sky |
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and you'll meet the baby Jesus |
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so you ll know you're in Heaven |
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and you'll get back the years |
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that you gave |
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in the taking of Peckham |
