I stand here in the High St., looking at all life.
Problems here, problems there, why is there so much strife?
A little boy limps past, caliper on his leg.
A little life already spoiled. Oh please Dear Lord I beg.
help him to heave a good life and know the joys of youth.
A yob pushes past, he spits at me, he really is uncouth.
A mother rushes by - four children cling to her dress,
looks of bewilderment on their faces - she couldn't care less.
An old man hobbles past, leaning on a stick.
A drunk staggers by and is violently sick -
All over the old man's trousers and shoes,