Arthur

Arthur gets up in the late afternoon
Waits for the bumbles and trash in his room
Opens the window looks up at the sky
He's still alive and he's still wondering why
Oh Arthur
Poor little Arthur
Arthur gets by on his peanuts and stout
Waits 'til it's dark before he ventures out
He is embarrassed to walk down the street
Oh well there's no one for him to meet
Oh Arthur
Poor little Arthur
Arthur is twenty his hair's going thin
His rooms smells of just sticks and pink paraffin
His lungs are aching from forty a day
His doors has a notice which says keep away
Oh Arthur
Poor little Arthur
Arthur sits gazing at weekend reviews
Hangs up the pictures and screws up the news
He has a girlfriend he writes to each day
But she is married and lives far away
Oh Arthur
Poor little Arthur
Arthur was told he'd become something good
That was at school when he did what he should
But now he's trying to get a degree
Things aren't as easy as they used to be
Oh Arthur
Poor little Arthur
Arthur will end up behind a big desk
And pushing playing the lifelong burles
And as the wheel winds down its little cog
He'll come home crying each night in the fog
Oh Arthur
Poor little Arthur
Oh Arthur
Poor little Arthur