Soho - Al Stewart

Rainstorm, brainstorm, faces in the maelstrom

Huddle by the puddles in the shadows where the drains run

Hot dogs, wet clogs clicking up the sidewalk

Disappearing into the booze shop

Rainbow queues stand down by the news stand, waiting for the late

Show

Pin ball, sin hall, minds in free fall

Chocolate-coloured ladies making eyes through the smoke-pall

Soho (needless to say)

I’m alone on your streets on a Friday evening

I’ve been here all of the day

I’m going nowhere with nowhere to go

Football supporters taking the waters

They’re looking round for the twilight daughters

Non-stop strip club pornographic bookshop

Come into the back and take your time and have a good look

Old man laughs with flowers in his hair

Newspaper headline «Midde East Deadline»

Jazz musicians are down on the breadline

Soho (needless to say)

I’m alone on your streets on a Friday evening

I’ve been here all of the day

I’m going nowhere with nowhere to go

Soho feeds the needs and hides the deeds, the mind that bleeds

Disenchanted, downstream in the night

Soho hears the lies, the twisted cries, the lonely sighs

Till she seems lost in dreams

The sun goes down on a neon eon

Though you’d have a job explaining it to Richard Coeur de Lion

Animation, bar conversation, anticipation, disinclination

Poor old wino turns with dust in his eyes

Begs for the dregs from the bottom of the kegs, man

You’ve never seen a lady lay down and spread her legs like

Soho (needless to say)

I’m alone on your sheets on a Friday evening

I’ve been here all of the day

I’m going nowhere with nowhere to go

Soho (needless to say)

I’m alone on your streets, or am I dreaming

I’ve been here all of the day

I’m going nowhere with nowhere to go