My day began with the FourTet song 'Smile around the face'nWell I was at the bus stop zombie rolling a cigarette, I'd woken up late,nI was taking off my headphones to hear this old lady who wanted to talknShe said: My husband smoked that brand before he died in the World WarnAnd it would be my pleasure, nNo, I'd be in your debtnIf you let me stand next to you while you smoke your cigarettenI said: My second hand smoke is yoursnnShe wore a faded pink rain mack nHer hair white patchy wispsnAnd I knew she was really quite old through something I had noticednThose who are close to Heaven can be picked out of a crowdnBy the simple fact that on their heads they wear a cloudnWell this woman wore a cloud...nnI finished my cigarette and the bus arrivednI knew that I'd done good by the way the woman smilednIt wasn't anything chemical, nNo aroma, scent nor smellnIt was the memory of her husband's love the woman had inhalednAnd she was complete just for a momentnnWell on the bus there was this couple solving clues in a crosswordnAnd they were reading them out loud and some of them I overheardnThe clues were not important but something beautiful occurrednI could spell L O V E with the first letter of each wordnHe put the newspaper on the seat behindnHis head moved close to hernSo close in fact so very close he was breathing her hairnHe need not breathe fresh airnnI got off the bus and walked down this little road just off South EalingnAnd saw the fence outside the park by which a woman was kneelingnA cardboard box bed and a toilet bowl to rest his headnThe tramp who was sleeping there had died and was replaced by flowers insteadnBut who leaves flowers for the ruined and homeless nBut the prostitute that changed his life?nWhen corporate dreams filled his corporate head he'd been caught cheating by his wifenWell enraged she took his house his carnHis money and his kidsnSo the prostitute she showed him her halo and where her wings were clippednnAnd her angelic voice he'd never heard Explained life's purpose to the nomadnAnd she sang profanity nHe was alive and he understoodnThat just to love and he loved her well it would set him freenAnd he died while he kissed her nAnd he made her happynWell I put my hand on her shoulder and said:nYou're complete and you are freennAnd I'm still trying to see a little good in everyone I meetnI'm still making up fantasies for people I pass in the streetnIt's so easy to feel pain in a world full of cities torn by warnWhere I see fallen angels you might see junkies and whoresnAnd where I find empty promises you might find the LordnWe're all just seeds in a sack in a gardening storenWe mean nothing at allnBecause we are just our storiesnnAnd maybe I'm singing this right now, nAnd all you hear is the melodynAnd maybe that's what makes you freenWell are you!?