Like a fly batters itself against a window

Time and again and again it senselessly blunders

Up and down the length of West Broadway

the bag lady wanders



Fifty cents rent goes pretty far

when you live in a subway car

One stop's the same as another

Even Son of Sam sees her sleeping,

she's not worth the bother

Sorrow, do they ever want to cry



Do they see us pass by

Where do they come from (simple answers)

Do they come falling,

falling from the sky like rain

Crawling up the basement drain

Misfits and black sheep

Former brothers, friends of mothers



There is no yesterday, there is no tomorrow

There is only now and that hardly matters

No one cares about sad old ladies

with bags full of tatters



One day it gets a bit too cold

Maybe a little too wet, maybe a little too lonely

Lifelessly she lies amidst her bag world

But maybe she's only sleeping