John Lee, your headache's growing, the cold wind's blowing  But the sea's without a ripple  John Lee, your forehead's damp, your muscles cramp  The sea can't use a cripple  (Chorus)  John Lee, you're turning around your fate again  Oh, John Lee  John Lee, you're turning around your fate again  Oh, John Lee  John Lee's been made a freeman, his heart's a seaman  But his flesh won't make a sailor  Working in a big hotel, waiting for the bell  That's ringing for his labour  (Chorus)  John Lee, your chances are good, you better touch wood  We think things must get better  John Lee, you've a friend so true, she wants to help you  Miss Keyes has sent a letter  (Chorus)  "Dear John, come and work the Glen, just write me when  And I'll send someone to meet you"  John's gone to where he started from, he's not worked long, just beginning to belong  "It hasn't been a very good day, the missus wants to halve my pay  Close the door and douse the light, it's quiet at night when she's tucked in tight  Sometimes I feel, when they're all in bed, it's almost like the whole world's dead  So I lay me down to sleep, I pray thee Lord my soul to keep"  (Chorus)  (Chorus)  "The customary quiet of Babbacombe, a residential suburb of   Torquay, was greatly disturbed early on Saturday morning   an  d the peaceful inhabitants roused to a state of intense   alarm and terror by one of the most frightful tragedies   that human devilment could plan or human fiend could perpe-   trate. The name of the victim was Miss Emma Anne Whitehead   Keyes, an elder  ly lady of some sixty-eight years. The name   of her home, the scene of her tragedy, was 'The Glen'. She   was found early in the morning, lying on her dining room   floor. Her throat had been horribly cut and there were three   wounds on her head. It   was evident that her murderer had also   attempted to burn the corpse."    these lyrics are last corrected by scm