I knew a man called Bob bob bob
Who killed himself behind the walls
Of boarding houses cold and grey
In slums across the USA
I owed him four pound fifty
For a David Bowie LP
And I use to think that maybe
He was just a little crazier than me
They found him there behind the door
Where luck had run out long before
He curled up in the corner
With a photo of his family
A whiskey bottle empty
And some stuff that made his face go green
The broken leaves from all his books
He’d bundled up and wrapped in polythene
Come on children, gather round
Can’t you hear the famous sound
Of everybody crying in the night
Come on children, don’t be long
Come and sing your famous song
Ten thousand people dead
Because they don’t know how
To face the morning light
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