Paroles de Mother england reverie

I have no time for time magazine or rolling stone. i have no wish for wishing wells or wishing bones. and if you think i'm joking, then i'm just a one-line i have no house in the country i have no motor car. and it seems there's no-body left for tennis; and i'm joker in a public bar. a one-band-man. and i want no top twenty funeral or a hundred grand. rubbing his hands with glee. he said, ``oh mother england, there was a little boy stood on a burning log, did you light my smile; or did you light this fire under me? one day i'll be a minstrel in the gallery. and paint you a picture of the queen. it's just the nonsense that it seems.'' and if sometimes i sing to a cynical degree --- so i drift down through the baker street valley, in my steep-sided un-reality. for a better one. it's a real-life ripe dead certainty --- and when all is said and all is done --- i couldn't wish that i'm just a baker street muse. old way. talking to the gutter-stinking, winking in the same i tried to catch my eye but i looked the other way. indian restaurants that curry my brain --- newspaper warriors changing the names they advertise from the station stand. circumcised with cold print hands. windy bus-stop. click. shop-window. heel. shady gentleman. fly-button. feel. in the underpass, the blind man stands. with cold flute hands. symphony match-seller, breath out of time --- you can call me on another line. couldn't shake her --- with my baker street bruise. didn't make her --- with my baker street ruse. like to take her --- but i'm just a baker street muse. (i can't get out!)