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 my 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