The Tower of the Old Folk

Living in my bedsit in the tower of the old folk Watching television, I heard somebody speak A robot does my cleaning and it does not even smoke I think I am invisible, I wear a dust grey cloak Maybe I’m a loser; my bones already creak Living in my bedsit in the tower of the old folk Noone here can touch me, now maybe they will joke But my heart is feeling empty and I know I am a freak A robot does my cleaning and it does not even smoke The council can’t afford replacements for any mugs I broke I see a few young people drinking coffee in the street Weeping in my bedsit in the tower of the old folk If I tried to drown myself no doubt I would just float When I go to a farm shop, the sheep won’t stop to bleat A robot does my cleaning and it does not even smoke I am serving my life sentence, but it seems incomplete I can only walk ten yards, arthritis in my feet Living in my bedsit in the tower of the old folk A robot did my cleaning, the dumb thing never spoke Share this: