At the Chime of a City Clock
A city freezeGet on your kneesPray for warmth and green paper.A city droughtYou're down and outSee your trousers don't taper.Saddle upKick your feetRide the range of a London streetTravel to a local planeTurn around and come back again.
And at the chime of the city clockPut up your road blockHang on to your crown.For a stone in a tin canIs wealth to the city manWho leaves his armour down.
Stay indoorsBeneath the floorsTalk with neighbours only.The games you playMake people sayYou're either weird or lonely.A city starWon't shine too farOn account of the way you areAnd the beadsAround your faceMake you sure to fit back in place.
And at the beat of the city drumSee how your friends come in twos;Or threes or more.For the sound of a busy placeIs fine for a pretty faceWho knows what a face is for.
The city clownWill soon fall downWithout a face to hide in.And he will loseIf he won't chooseThe one he may confide in.Sonny boyWith smokes for saleWent to ground with a face so paleAnd never heardAbout the changeShowed his hand and fell out of range.
In the light of a city squareFind out the face that's fairKeep it by your side.When the light of the city fallsYou fly to the city wallsTake off with your bride.
But at the chime of a city clockPut up your road blockHang on to your crown.For a stone in a tin canIs wealth to the city manWho leaves his armour down.