Walking, with medals on his chest
A man of no fixed abode
“He’s a tramp,” I heard someone say
“Just an old man of the road.”
Yet he’s a high society dreamer
Years ago he did what he could,
Now he can’t forget the memories
Of the shedding of all that blood.
Little lad sits on his doorstep
No shoes upon his feet,
From a single parent family
With barely enough to eat.
Though he’s a high society dreamer
Dreaming of the day
When he and many like him
Can stand and have their say.
Young woman on street corners
Her miniskirt short and red
It’s the only thing she knows
Her living made on a bed.
But she’s a high society dreamer
Dreaming about the time
She doesn’t have to sell herself
By living this life of crime.
So listen you politicians
And you Whitehall men,
Stop thinking only of yourself,
Try to think of them.
Those high society dreamers
The one’s that dream and scheme,
And when you go to bed tonight
Have a low society dream.