Baker Street Muse (Baker Street Muse) Lyrics

Windy bus-stop. Click. Shop-window. Heel.
Shady gentleman. Fly-button. Feel.
In the underpass, the blind man stands. With cold flute hands.
Symphony match-seller, breath out of time -
You can call me on another line.

Indian restaurants that curry my brain.
Newspaper  warriors  changing the  names  they advertise  from  the station
    stand. With cold print hands.
Symphony word-player, I'll be your headline.
If you catch me another time.

Didn't make her - with my Baker Street Ruse.
Couldn't shake her - with my Baker Street Bruise.
Like to take her - I'm just a Baker Street Muse.

Ale-spew, puddle-brew - boys, throw it up clean.
Coke and Bacardi colours them green.
From the typing pool goes the mini-skirted princess with great finesse.
Fertile earth-mother,  your burial mound  is fifty  feet down in  the Baker
    Street underground.

What the Hell?
I didn't make her - with my Baker Street Ruse.
Couldn't shake her - with my Baker Street Bruise.
Like to take her - I'm just a Baker Street Muse.

    [Instrumental]

Walking down the gutter thinking, "How the Hell am I today?"
Well, I didn't really ask you but thanks all the same.