I have a friend, Mr Dearden

Statistics say he’s one in ten

Who lives at Number 2-2-3

Look for the house that has a tree.

His job is fixing old machines

Throughout the night, by any means

Days off, he reconditions cars

And meets his mates in select bars.

Devoted uncle, brother, son

He always calls before I’ve rung

To wish me all the very best

Before our family’s even dressed.

We’ve different circles, different pasts

And yet this quaint connection lasts

For out of nowhere he’ll appear

If only once or twice a year.

As for this figure: one in ten

I’ll need to look at it again

For should I know one million men

I could not meet as dear a friend