lyrics
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Street Life
Copyright George Papavgeris, October 2008

Monday morning, treading softly as I leave the house for work
Chris next door had late shift Sunday night
Full-time guard and part-time fireman, not a moment to himself
And to wake him up would not be right.
Tuesday and Mujeeb's good lady's grinding spices for their meal
Aromas through the window they escape
We all stop outside a moment just to savour the perfume
It's a wonder how he stays in shape

A different story every day of the week
As different as chalk and cheese the faces that you meet
And I don't care much where they come from
Who they pray to, what they eat,
But I am lucky living down our stree

Seven thirty, engines starting, scrapers scratching at the ice
Hunter gatherers barely half awake
Smiling grimly at each other, p'rhaps today will turn out nice
Thursday morning, two more trips to make
Janusz waiting by his front door for his morning lift to come
Sandwich and banana in a towel
All day working up the scaffold to bring home his daily crumb
He's so good with mortar board and trowel

A different story every day of the week
As different as chalk and cheese the faces that you meet
And I don't care much where they come from
Who they pray to, what they eat,
But I am lucky living down our stree

Love you Mummy, Love you Daddy, down at Number 54
Little angels on their way to school
Hop skip jumping to whatever life might have for them in store
May their winter years never be cruel.
Friday night, the youngsters heading for the town to paint it red
Learning lessons others learned before
They'll be back before the day breaks, empty pockets, throbbing heads
(they'd) Better not be banging on the door

A different story every day of the week
As different as chalk and cheese the faces that you meet
And I don't care much where they come from
Who they pray to, what they eat,
But I am lucky living down our stree

Sunday morning, dozen mowers buzzing like a swarm of bees
Perfect time for barbecue and beer
Cross the valley watch the walkers chasing dogs among the trees
And I swear that I've just seen a deer.
Sunday evening, all is quiet, windows darken one by one
Like a tunnel swallowing a train
Soon enough alarms will ring like cockerels heralding the sun
And we'll start the cycle once again

A different story every day of the week
As different as chalk and cheese the faces that you meet
And I don't care much where they come from
Who they pray to, what they eat,
But I am lucky living down our street

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