My day began with the FourTet song 'Smile around the face'   Well I was at the bus stop zombie rolling a cigarette, I'd woken up late,   I was taking off my headphones to hear this old lady who wanted to talk   She said: "My husband smoked that brand before he died in the World War   And it would be my pleasure,    No, I'd be in your debt   If you let me stand next to you while you smoke your cigarette"   I said: "My second hand smoke is yours"      She wore a faded pink rain mack    Her hair white patchy wisps   And I knew she was really quite old through something I had noticed   Those who are close to Heaven can be picked out of a crowd   By the simple fact that on their heads they wear a cloud   Well this woman wore a cloud...      I finished my cigarette and the bus arrived   I knew that I'd done good by the way the woman smiled   It wasn't anything chemical,    No aroma, scent nor smell   It was the memory of her husband's love the woman had inhaled   And she was complete just for a moment      Well on the bus there was this couple solving clues in a crossword   And they were reading them out loud and some of them I overheard   The clues were not important but something beautiful occurred   I could spell L O V E with the first letter of each word   He put the newspaper on the seat behind   His head moved close to her   So close in fact so very close he was breathing her hair   He need not breathe fresh air      I got off the bus and walked down this little road just off South Ealing   And saw the fence outside the park by which a woman was kneeling   A cardboard box bed and a toilet bowl to rest his head   The tramp who was sleeping there had died and was replaced by flowers instead   But who leaves flowers for the ruined and homeless    But the prostitute that changed his life?   When corporate dreams filled his corporate head he'd been caught cheating by his wife   Well enraged she took his house his car   His money and his kids   So the prostitute she showed him her halo and where her wings were clipped      And her angelic voice he'd never heard Explained life's purpose to the nomad   And she sang profanity    He was alive and he understood   That just to love and he loved her well it would set him free   And he died while he kissed her    And he made her happy   Well I put my hand on her shoulder and said:   "You're complete and you are free"      And I'm still trying to see a little good in everyone I meet   I'm still making up fantasies for people I pass in the street   It's so easy to feel pain in a world full of cities torn by war   Where I see fallen angels you might see junkies and whores   And where I find empty promises you might find the Lord   We're all just seeds in a sack in a gardening store   We mean nothing at all   Because we are just our stories      And maybe I'm singing this right now,    And all you hear is the melody   And maybe that's what makes you free   Well are you!?