There are lights on the water
they shine on a river
from St. Pauls down to Gravesend,
they shine to the sea
and I'm sick and I'm tired
footsore and weary
the faces of London, got nothing on me
got by on a coffee
songs of the rivers, of the
hills and old ways
and the faces of London
no time for the stopping
each one an island, in a big lonely sea
the wind blows the paper
past the underground stations
the streets are deserted
and cold as a grave
I remember on leaving
your last words so well
you'll always survive,
if you've something to sell
now it's four in the morning
the cold neon mourning
there's a Rolls rolling homeward
and the driver he's yawning
and I'm sharing this moment
with a drunk and a bottle
two faces of London with nowhere to go

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