The Door-to-Door Inspector — текст песни (Fatima Mansions, The)

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)