I work in dark factories, A cog in a big wheel, Driving grey satanic mills And weaving sad stories. And faceless masters, Oh, they pay me plenty: Crumbs from their luncheon bags Harsh wine from bottles of empties. [Chorus:] "A stitch in time saves nine," Sang cock-robin from the wall. "It's an early bird catches the worm; Show a little pride before you fall." So I flew to the south sun With birds of a feather, To drink in the warm nights And tell of fine weather. [Repeat Chorus] Listen all you young folk: Your lives on the time-table. Clocking on twenty-one; Fly while you're able. [Repeat Chorus] [Repeat Chorus]