Текст (слова) песни: Fatima Mansions, The - The Door-to-Door Inspector
The door-to-door inspector, his knuckles bare and white, is rapping on your window `cause he knows you`re hiding here tonight He`s travelled from the city to your country slum under rain and black clouds and the burnt-out silver sun
He`ll drop you where you stand Lift the roof with his bare hands and hand you down his just demands as you huddle in your tiny corner
The door-to-door inspector now sits to eat his lunch He scowls at last week`s paper in the worker`s cafe, hushed You made your choice whan mocking the ways of true grown men Now may your woman-love protect you as you face this grevious punishment you`ve earned
He`ll drop you where you stand then journey home to wash those hands and to his bed he`ll trembling go Passion not spent, a man alone (with his hand)
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