On the comer past the newsagent
Who's cleaning up the glass from someone else's party
He acknowledges his neighbour
And with a capable smile and a dash of enthusiasm
He informs the bus driver who's been on since 6.30
That this city's full of hawks
And trafalgar square must be the
Closest thing to heaven on earth
This must be heaven
At the city centre bus depot and enlightened
Mr. Cleanam steps off the bus
And with only a minute to spare avoiding the rush
A little wiser mr. Cleanam feels
It's quite likely that avoiding the facts
It appears we're balanced on a knife edge
And trafalgar square must be the closest thing
To heaven on earth
A day at the races, a week in majorca
And a sunday drive if the weather's fine
Mr. Cleanam 'I think the pigeons are restless'
A little wiser mr. Cleanam
'I think the pigeons are restless'
This must be heaven
