I work in dark factories,

A cog in a big wheel,

Driving grey satanic mills

And weaving sad stories.



And faceless masters,

Oh, they pay me plenty:

Crumbs from their luncheon bags

Harsh wine from bottles of empties.



[Chorus:]

"A stitch in time saves nine,"

Sang cock-robin from the wall.

"It's an early bird catches the worm;

Show a little pride before you fall."



So I flew to the south sun

With birds of a feather,

To drink in the warm nights

And tell of fine weather.



[Repeat Chorus]



Listen all you young folk:

Your lives on the time-table.

Clocking on twenty-one;

Fly while you're able.



[Repeat Chorus]



[Repeat Chorus]