The Fatima Mansions - The Door-to-door Inspector lyrics

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 Pa**ion not spent, a man alone (with his hand)