Some people'd love to live their lives like a king.

Some people only need a wife and a ring.

Some want happiness, some just don't want to remember.

But what am I? Why, I'm just simple peddler.

 

I wander up and down these streets each day.

You see my treasures and I see your pain

hidden in the corners of your fences and your jars,

your pinstriped pin up smiles

and your poorly hidden scars.

I peddle petals from Miss Avery's garden,

spectacles from Caesar's, and beggin' your pardon,

a cup of castor oil, nine days fresh

will surely lead to love and life and good night's rest

 

You may demurely deign to disagree

that such a life as mine is rich indeed,

but I can wander as the will persuades -

no one to answer to, no bills to pay!

So, you take your ribbons and your pedigree -

I'm just a mutt from southern Willoughby,

yet we're just people, only people, all we are,

whether born in carriages or alleyway stalls.

 

I'll keep on peddling yesterday's gold

and steal your secrets still untold.

I know you better than your father or your mother -

you fancy me invisible - why, you don't even bother

to try cover up the stains you wear

beneath your picture perfect croix de guerre!

As for your gallantry, it isn't worth a cent to me.

I'll take the things that you cast out - they're worth far more than such a lout.

 

I know the kind of things you throw away -

if they were people, we could talk all day.

Instead they whisper with wisdom and guile:

this person thinks they're gonna be here a while!

Miss Alliander Hoffrey said the same old thing.

She was a pretty lass, and just nineteen,

when one afternoon within a fainting spell

she awoke to judgement and the fear of hell.

 

You people, you people, you people i see

I know you, I know you, but you don't know me.

Oh you don't know that - how do you know that -

you'd never know that - that I can see you,

you people, you people I see.

I know you, I know you, but you don't know me.

You spend fortunes on your history, geography, theology; its odd to me that nobody has pointed out:

Yes, you've got legs, but not a snout,

tongue that wags but ears that stand,

pinkish skin but fingered hand.

Let's put an end to this muckish masquerade!

Don't treat me like the trash you send my way.

 

Some people'd love to live their lives like a king.

Some people only need a wife and a ring.

Some want sympathy, some just don't want to remember.

But what am I? Why, I'm just simple peddler.