There's no place to cry at The Ritz
Though your heart may be breaking to bits.
For the waiter, the valet, the maid
All take part in a constant parade.
The service is shocking:
They come in without knocking
Bearing flowers and fruit and champagne
And there's really no way to complain
That, though the decor is fine,
and so is the wine,
The curtains well drawn,
delicious the prawn,
The suite quite discreet,
the bath sachet, sweet,
The one luxury unheeded
That's very much needed
Is some space
In this place for a cry.