"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?
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