If in stockinged feet you worry menWith feelings, soft liesnAnd too few binding bondsnDrop your defences, let me rest my casenChelsea Bridge is fallingnAround our embracennWhy shouldn’t I love you?nWhy shouldn’t I love you?nnThe small rooms of poverty offer no escapenThe menu is the samenToo much of nothing on your platenAnd when the lines of worrynDon’t relax when you sleepnEvery dream’s a housing schemenA promise they won’t keepnnI followed your careernFrom the classroom to the tearsnThrough every well thumbed magazinenThe school report, the might’ve beennThe day that you stopped fightingnWas the day you stopped delightingnSo paint the sneer back on your facenTurn off the TV and pack your casenThen we’ll be gonen