Lyrics |
I have no time for Time Magazine or Rolling Stone.I have no wish for wishing-wells or wishing bones.I have no house in the country I have no motor-car. And if you think I'm joking, then I'm just a one-line joker in a publicbar. And it seems there's no-body left for tennis; and I'm a one-band-man. And I want no Top Twenty funeral or a hundred grand. There was a little boy stood on a burning log, rubbing his hands with glee. He said, " Oh Mother England, did you light my smile; or did you lightthis fire under me? One day I'll be a minstrel in the gallery. And paint you a picture of the queen. And if sometimes I sing to a cynical degree - It's just the nonsense that it seems. So I drift down through the Baker Street valley, in my steep-sidedun-reality. And when all's said and all's done - couldn't wish for a better one. It's a real-life ripe dead-certainty - that I'm just a Baker Street Muse. Talking to the gutter-stinking, winking in the same old way.I tried to catch my eye but I looked the other way. Indian restaurants that curry my brain - Newspaper warriors changing the names they advertise from the stationstand. Circumcised with cold print hands. Windy bus-stop. Click. Shop-window. Heel. Shady gentleman. Fly-button. Feel. In the underpass, the blind man stands. With cold flute hands. Symphony match-seller, breath out of time - You can call me on another line. Didn't make her - with my Baker Street Ruse. Couldn't shake her - with my Baker Street Bruise. Like to take her - I'm just a Baker Street Muse.I'm just a Baker Street Muse. Just a Baker Street Muse. Just a Baker Street Muse.
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