My Lady from London was as delicate as a dancing flame
And her long blonde hair was just as beautiful as her name
Every day she would watch the horses and carriages go buy
And from the window in the drawing room she would look to the sky
My lady from London was as rich as one could be
And was brought up to think that she was better than you or me
Every day she would sit in the same old chair
And to see a smile on her face was extremely rare.
My lady from London was ever so vain
She didn’t care about others nor their feelings and pain
She would look down on us as though we were some kind of dirt
She would shout and scream and didn’t care we were hurt.
Money was her blessing but also her curse
She had an empty heart but never an empty purse
She had never known love so she had none to give
I suppose My Lady from London will never know what it’s like to live.
