Down on cyprus avenue
  with a child-like vision leaping into view.
  the clicking clacking of the high-heeled shoes,
  ford and fitzroy; madam george.
  marching with the soldierboy behind
  he’s much older now with hat on, drinking wine
  and the smell of sweet perfume comes drifting thru
  in the cool night breeze like shalimar
  and then your self control lets go
  and suddenly you’re up against the bathroom door.
  the hallway lights are finely getting dim
  you’re in the front row touching him
  and outside they’re making all the stops
  the kinds out in the streets collecting bottle tops,
  going for cigarettes and matches to the shops,
  happy talking, madam george
  and that’s when you fall, oh,
  oh, that’s when you fall
  
  and you fall into a trance
  sitting on a sofa playing games of chance
  with your folded arms in history books you glance
  into the eyes of madam george
  and you think you’ve found your bag,
  you’re getting weaker and your knees begin to sag
  and in the corner playing dominoes in drag,
  the one and only madam george
  and outside the frosty window raps
  she says “be cool, I think that it’s the cops”
  stands up, drops everything she gots,
  it’s not easy now you know
  now you know you gotta go
  catch a train from dublin up to sandy row,
  in the wind, rain & fog & slush & snow
  keep on going on
  say good-bye we know you’re pretty far out
  and all the little boys comin’ round
  they got gold cigarette lighters in their pockets
  walking away from it all, so cool.
  that’s when you fall.