Time and again and again it senselessly blunders
  Up and down the length of West Broadway
  	the bag lady wanders

  Fifty cents rent goes pretty far
  	when you live in a subway car
  One stop's the same as another
  Even Son of Sam sees her sleeping,
  	she's not worth the bother
  Sorrow, do they ever want to cry

  Do they see us pass by
  Where do they come from (simple answers)
  Do they come falling,
  	falling from the sky like rain
  Crawling up the basement drain
  Misfits and black sheep
  Former brothers, friends of mothers

  There is no yesterday, there is no tomorrow
  There is only now and that hardly matters
  No one cares about sad old ladies
  	with bags full of tatters

  One day it gets a bit too cold
  Maybe a little too wet, maybe a little too lonely
  Lifelessly she lies amidst her bag world
  But maybe she's only sleeping