I spotted him

Walking down Wardour Street one grey morning
on such a gloomy mundane day
        hay hay, hay hay, hay hay
        hee hee, hee hee, hee hee

On my way to work, I was late or
early no one cared not now or then
and when: nineteen ninety six

A figure walked, a denim jacketed fig
raw and majestic famed and aflame
of face set up against the cloud

He stopped
turned around
seemed confused
      it's him, it's definitely him he looks lost
      of course he does but now he's
      strutting languidly
      towards Oxford Street

Some call him Moz, I would not
  dare be so familiar certainly
    not speak to him, or even
      listen to him these days

I hope that's the correct response