Like a fly batters itself against a window   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