He is in his room, men will be there soon
   They come to smash the heaven he has known
   Now he’s sure to know soon that he must go
   This backstreet dream he has to leave behind
   Oh, what a shame, oh what a shame
  
   He’s a poor old man, poor old man
   Poor old man, can we help you?
  
   Things are at their worst, what should he do first?
   He must wonder, no one wants to know
   He must spread his wings, pack away his things
   A sack is all he needs for all he owns
   Tears they blind his eyes, tears blind his eyes
  
   He’s a poor old man, poor old man
   Poor old man, can we help you at all?
  
   Poor old man, poor old man
   Poor old man, can we help you at all?
  
   Poor old man, poor old man
   Poor old man, can we help you at all?