The kid from London’s back alleys
Tagging along with his brother
Selling flowers with panache and aplomb

Lost to the eyes of his mother
Locked by the deadly machines
Rebelling against the system

Defying the ledge
Spinning close to the edge
Wild wobbler on roller skates

Expelled from the town
He followed the dusty old roads
Winding away to the distance

Poverty’s child made us smile for a while
As the world came tumbling down

People laugh at the shuffling clown
But the magic is in the pathos