They say there’s no high
They say there’s no low
What do they know?
A train-tagger in Tooting’s
on an equal footing
with Michelangelo
Once I’d scaled the heights
0nce I’d reached the summit
I found Willie Yeats
reading a whodunnit
Every private eye
who’s been known to Pry’s
on a level with Poe
They say there’s no high
They say there’s no low
What do they know?

They say there’s no high
They say there’s no low
What do they know?

Jimmy Page and Paganini
are comparable in genius
when playing with a bow
They say the intrepid
Bill Haley and his Comets
are in the same orbit
as Holst and his Planets
Every home movie guy
who’s been to the BFI’s
Tarkovsky or Truffaut
They say there’s no high
They say there’s no low
What do they know?

What do they know
of the hope
that seemed to come within my scope
when you cried tally ho?
What do they know
of the despair
that runs before me like a hare
I’ve hunted high and low?

They say there’s no high
They say there’s no low
What do they know?
Star Trek or Terminator
no less legit as theatre
than Waiting for Godot
Once I’d plumbed the depths
On the basement I’d plummet
I found Saddam and some types
working over a sonnet
Every passer-by
in Balham or Peckham Rye’s
Baudelaire or Rimbaud
They say there’s no high
They say there’s no low
What do they know?