She'll soon be in the dock, and in the papers once again
Vicki's got her story about the mirror and the cane
     It may be false, it may be true
     But nothing has been proved

Stephen's in his dressing-gown now, breakfasting alone
Too sick to eat, he's on his feet and to the telephone
The police inspector soothes him with his sympathetic tone
     It may be false, it may be true
     But nothing has been proved

In the House a resignation, guilty faces everyone
Christine's fallen out with Lucky, Johnny's got a gun
"Please, please me"'s number one

(It's a scandal, it's a scandal, such a scandal)

Now Stephen's in the dock for spending money that was earned
By Christine, and the prosecution says that money burned
A hole in Stephen's pocket, for expensive sins he yearned
     It may be false, it may be true
     But nothing has been proved

In the news a suicide note, in the court an empty space
Even Mandy's looking worried, Christine's pale and drawn
"Please, please me"'s number one

(It's a scandal, it's a scandal, such a scandal)

Last night he wrote these words to his friend:
"Sorry about the mess"
"I'm guilty 'til proved innocent in the public eye and press"
The funeral's very quiet, because all his friends have fled
     They may be false, they may be true
     They've all got better things to do
     They may be false, they may be true
     But nothing has been proved, ooh
Nothing
Nothing has been proved
No, nothing
Nothing
No, nothing
Nothing
No, nothing
Nothing
No, nothing
Nothing
No, nothing