And here slip I --- dragging one foot in the gutter --- some only son's mother. Baker Street casualty. in the midnight echo of the shop that sells cheap Old Lady Grey; crash-barrier waltzer --- radios. And there sits she --- no bed, no bread, no butter --- on a double yellow line --- where she can park anytime. move the old lady on. Feet in sticking plaster --- Oh, Mr. Policeman --- blue shirt ballet master. his Romeo to her Juliet. Strange pas-de-deux --- Her sleeping draught, his poisoned regret. No drunken bums allowed to sleep here in the crowded emptiness. I'll pay the bill and make her well - like hell you Oh officer, let me send her to a cheap hotel --- bloody will! to be still more independent. No do-good over kill. We must teach them