(RossiParfitt)

He is in his room, men will be there soon

They come to smash the heaven he has known

Now he's sure to know soon that he must go

This backstreet dream he has to leave behind

Oh, what a shame, oh what a shame



He's a poor old man, poor old man

Poor old man, can we help you?



Things are at their worst, what should he do first?

He must wonder, no one wants to know

He must spread his wings, pack away his things

A sack is all he needs for all he owns

Tears they blind his eyes, tears blind his eyes



He's a poor old man, poor old man

Poor old man, can we help you at all?



Poor old man, poor old man

Poor old man, can we help you at all?



Poor old man, poor old man

Poor old man, can we help you at all?