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 but 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!)

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

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