The Door-to-door Inspector Lyrics - Fatima Mansions

The door-to-door inspector, his knuckles bare and white, 

is rapping on your window 

'cause he knows you're hiding here tonight 

He's travelled from the city to your country slum 

under rain and black clouds 

and the burnt-out silver sun 

He'll drop you where you stand 

Lift the roof with his bare hands 

and hand you down his just demands 

as you huddle in your tiny corner 

The door-to-door inspector now sits to eat his lunch 

He scowls at last week's paper 

in the worker's cafe, hushed 

You made your choice whan mocking the ways of true grown men 

Now may your woman-love protect you 

as you face this grevious punishment you've earned 

He'll drop you where you stand 

then journey home to wash those hands 

and to his bed he'll trembling go 

Passion not spent, a man alone 

(with his hand)