Some strange force pulled me towards these two strangers
As I followed them down a drunken platform of danger,
I hopped on their carriage to keep a close eye
On the guy with a barrage of words, and I smiled
When he noticed me watching and he asked me to what
The fuck that it was that he owed my stern look
And I said "I'm so sorry, but I don't speak no English"
And he said "Well, that's good, 'cos it's none of your business"
And I bowed my head and he went back to his words
And I went back to my watching and listening to hers,
Because a fight ain't a fight until there's a fist,
Well, of course then another passenger decides that this
Is enough bystander apathy that he can resist
And another joins in, and of course they were told
Of the beating they'd get, would they like to be shown …
And they should "follow the example of this smart geeza here",
And so I took that as an invitation to inform the young man
With a curse, and a warning, and a threat from MY lips
That, actually, you asshole, I do speak English.

He stood to the roof, with a bottle in hand
And with the other, slipped inside jacket, as if to pretend
He had a gun, or a knife, or perhaps a gardening spade
And maybe it was the drink, but I wasn't afraid
As I took hold of the Becks and deflected his anger
And softly spoke, as the alarm stopped us at Lancaster Gate Station,
That I could help if he left these good people and came with me now,
And past the running guards, we three slipped above ground
And we walked through their problem and we talked through the streets
And as he cooled, he apologised for making a scene,
But he hated her, how could she? "I want her to die!",
"He's an asshole, mistreats me, he's ruined my life!"
And so on, and so forth, till suddenly I clicked
That this was a dispute over a dropped train ticket
To Uxbridge, to a build-up of two years of pain,
And as we hit upon Queensway, it started to rain
Which hid her tears nicely as it beat down her hair,
And as she spoke to her mother and walked on ahead,
He turned and he spoke like a liar who cared:
"That is my life walking away right there, man
She's got her family, but I just ain't
Got nobody else that I can phone to get help
Besides, I bought that beer there with my last hard-earned pound".

She was going home, but he said that he was going to sleep
On the streets, in the park, or behind some rubbish heap,
And assorted stupidity rained down from the sky,
And she offered her umbrella to at least keep him dry,
And would he call to let her know that he was alright?
And he just shrugged and said that he knew how to fight,
"And that's another thing, mate," I said with intent,
"Best you get yourself some rage management.
You guys need to talk, but in the sober morning",
But by then, by strange miracle, they were already talking
And against common judgement, but with my gut-feeling
I let them go home on another train towards Ealing,
But at different ends, so they had time alone,
And her mother waiting for the train to come in,
And they thanked me, and promised, and all of that shit
And he said "keep the beer - I think you've earned it".