Busker's Paradise

Original

Devastated early bird's been beaten by the worm.

He tried to get the 8:16, another lesson learned.

Now he can't be on the main street catching all the Primark train.

There's a bastard selling phone cases who sheltered from the rain, and it's all he knows.

So now he's lost all choices, left to pitch up near the station.

Between the pub that's long shut down and the British Heart Foundation.

Where pensioners move slowly and protestors bully migrants.

With artwork on the shutter of the shops depicting violence, and he's all alone.

And this old town is falling down.

Familiar chords still turn around as the people passing by get by with an lonesome lie.

'Cause this old town is falling down.

Copper coins rain to the ground.

Is it all or nothing walking in the busker's paradise?

Here comes the high-vis jacket, thumbs tucked tightly in his vest.

With community support on words that warrant you respect.

While chasing with a notepad, he's got data to collect.

From the man outside the marketplace discarding cigarettes, but he's talking on the phone.

A simple four-chord turnaround with a voice that goes unheard. With £4.

63 inside a black bag by the curb. Intoxicated characters can't help but take a look.

There's a woman in a wheelchair with an old ripped Costa cup, and she's tryna make it home.

And this old town is falling down.

Familiar chords still turn around as the people passing by get by with an lonesome lie.

'Cause this old town is falling down.

Copper coins rain to the ground.

Is it all or nothing walking in the busker's paradise?

Sun sets on a quiet street, the pubs now come alive.

A trader in the shadows dealing out a bag for life. From perfume to detergent, razor blades or Melba toast.

Or a discount leg of lamb to host the perfect Sunday roast.

And as he keeps on playing, he's now featured on the spot.

By women dressed in L plates with a veil to tie the knot. And after one rendition, they drop twenty in the pot.

Then straight back into Ladbrokes where he'll lose the fucking lot.

And this old town is falling down.

Familiar chords still turn around as the people passing by get by with an lonesome lie.

'Cause this old town is falling down.

Copper coins rain to the ground.

Is it all or nothing walking in the busker's paradise?