CH:
Strange people,
Buzzing round like birds.
Strange people,
Not waiting to be heard.
1:
Sitting round like they been blessed,
Got a whole lot of things they could confess.
Stepping out in Sunday best,
Or creeping round and about like they obsessed.
Café society,
No place for likes of you you see.
Outcast-that maybe
But to me you be extraordinary.
CH:
What a lot of strange people,
Buzzing round like birds,
What a lot of strange people,
Not waiting to be heard.
2:
Struttin’ round-puffed up chest,
Looking up, down on the dispossessed.
Decked out-theatrical dress,
Who’s to say which of you will most impress.
Half baked Liberty.
Invisibility.
No sign of prosperity,
But to me you be extraordinary.
BRIDGE:
There be lovers, loners, the slaves and the free.
There be haves and have nots in the theatre of dreams.
There be charmers, cheaters, plain and pretty.
There be jesters, jokers in the theatre of dreams.
CH:
Strange people,
Buzzing round like birds,
Strange people,
Not waiting to be heard.