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Crossfire Spring light in a hazy May and a man with a gun at the door Someone's crawling on the roof above --- all the media here for the show I've been waiting for our friends to come Like spiders down ropes to free-fall A thirty round clip for a visiting card --- admit one to the embassy ball Caught in the crossfire on Princes Gate Avenue In go the windows and out go the lights Call me a doctor. Fetch me a policeman I'm down on the floor in one hell of a fight I'm just a soul with an innocent face --- a regular boy dressed in blue conducting myself in a proper way as befitting the job that I do They came down on me like a ton of bricks Swept off my feet, knocked about There's nothing for it but to sit and wait for the hard men to get me out Calm reason floats from the street below and the slow fuse burns through the night Everyone's tried to talk it through but they can't seem to get the deal right Somewhere there are Brownings in a two-hand hold --- cocked and locked, one up the spout There's nothing for it but to sit and wait for the hard men to get me out
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