Have you seen the old man in the closed down market,
kicking up the papers with his woen out shoes ?
In his eyes you see no pride,
hand held loosely by his side,
yesterdays paper telling yesterdays news.

Have you seen the old girl who walks the streets of London,
dirt in her hair and her clothes in rags ?
She´s no time for talking,
she just keeps right walking,
carrying her home in two carrier bags.

In the all night cafe at the quarter past eleven,
same old man sitting there on his own,
looking at the world
over the rim of his teacup
each tea last an hour, and he wanders home alone.

Have you seen the old man outside the seaman´s mission,
memory fading with the medal ribbons that he wears ?
In our winter city the rain cries a little pity
for one more forgotten hero
and a world that does´nt care.

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