Fingerless Gloves

There’s a girl outside Green Park station,
Playmg her guitar for the home bound crowd,
Every now and then, someone stops to give her meney,
She doesn’t miss a beat, she’s laying it down…
Her eyes are closed, her head’s thrown back,
Her feet are tapping out a rhythm as she sings about Iove,
Her breath is hanging in the cold evening air,
She’s wearing ballet shoes and fingerless gloves,
Ballet shoes and fingerless gloves…
Well I stop to listen to a couple of verses,
Ahout a Romeo and his Juliet,
She’ll never be an angel but I’ve heard a lot worse,
Her voice is the colour of cigarettes,
Her eyes are closed, her head’s thrown back,
Her feet are tapping out a rhythm as ghe sings about love,
Her breath is hanging in the cold evening air,
She’s wearing ballet shoes and fingerless gloves,
Ballet shoes and fingerless gloves…
A few hours later, I’m standing on a stage,
Playing my guitar for a paying crowd,
Right at the front is the Green Park girl,
Singing and clapping and a-laughing out loud,
I close my eyes, throw my head back,
My feeet are tapping out a rhythm as I lie about love,
I can’t help thinking how lucky I am,
I’ve never had to wear fingerless gloves,
Never had to wear fingerless gloves…