And here slip I - dragging one foot in the gutter - In the midnight echo of the shop that sells cheap radios. And there sits she - no bed, no bread nor butter - On a double yellow line where she can park anytime. Old Lady Grey; Crash-barrier Waltzer - Some only son's mother. Baker Street casualty. Oh, Mr. Policeman - blue shirt ballet master. Feet in sticking plaster - Move the old lady on. Strange pas-de-deux - His Romeo to her Juliet. Her sleeping draught his poisoned regret. No drunken bums allowed to sleep here in the crowded emptiness. Oh officer, oh let me send her to a cheap hotel - I'll pay the bill and make her well - like hell you bloody will! No do-good over kill. We must teach them to be still more independent.