On the periphery of my vision I can see what used to be
Every road, every house, every garden every tree
The house where I was born where I spent many a happy day
The road that was my football pitch where it was safe to play
Our garden with its patch of lawn that was really quite minute
The pear tree that was very large but rarely gave to us its fruit
Fond Memories of my old street from time to time I do recall
Neighbours still remembered from when I was quite small
Too numerous to mention they oft flit across my mind
All remembered as good-humoured, generous and kind
The lampposts and the kerbstones I recollect each and every one
Chalked hopscotch on the pavement was the epitome of fun
I sit awhile and imbibe, suspended in a hazy reverie
Another sip of Marseille 51 makes everything clear to me
Translucent are the memories that are running through my head
Of the street, the happy street where I was born and bred
