Kicking down a back street
In foggy London town
My head up above the clouds
While on my brow, a frown.

The random cries of violence
Swirl tight within the fog
A man staggers homewards
Too much laudanum or grog.

My eyes observe the shining,
Rain splatters down the street,
A child is begging piteously
Her head lies at my feet.

My rage at bare injustice,
Is a torrent in my veins,
The police are worse than useless,
No faith in them remains.
So I stand and ring St Mungo’s
Some charity remains.