A tenement,
a dirty street,
walked in worn by shoeless feet
In silence long and so complete,
watched by a shivering sun
Old eyes in a small child's face,
watching in the shadows' rays
Through walls and cracks that leave no
trace in daylight's brightness shone
The days of early Spencer,
ah,
the ways it's almost won
Most pressed hard on frosted glass,
gazing at the swollen mass
On concrete fields where grows no grass,
stumbles blindly on
Iron trees smother the air,
but where the rain,
they stand and stare
Through eyes that neither know nor care,
where the grass has gone
The days of early Spencer,
ah,
the ways it's almost won
Early wears your milk-white skin,
wads that stubble on your chin
Buried in a rug of gin,
you played and lost,
not won
You played a house that can't be beat,
now look your head's bowed in defeat
You walked your fall on the street where only rats can run
The days of early Spencer,
ah,
the ways it's almost won
The days of early Spencer,
ah,
the ways it's almost won