The man who walks the streets

 
Another winter morn he’ll greet

A night of wind and blinding sleet

Though just awake he feels deadbeat

It’s hard to move from lack of heat

But move he must, there’s death to beat

The man who walks the street


Another day, another drink

To stop his mind from trying to think

Others see him cower and shrink

He looks at them and tries to wink

But he knows that they just smell his stink

The a man who’s on the brink


His bank account is obsolete

He says he just forgets to eat

A crisis loan, his claim complete

He tries his best to keep them sweet

They smile enjoying his daily defeat

The man who’s penniless on the street


Lucid moments, always brief

Can’t remember more than grief

Seldom experiences any relief

Abused and treated like a thief

A broken heart is his motif

The man who stares in disbelief


Would love to sleep in satin sheets

Use a bed and not concrete

Be invisible, be discrete

Not be kicked around by others feet

To taste the sweet of bitter sweet

The man who’s dying on the street


Lives a life that we would dread

Constant voices in his head

Hears every insult quietly said

Not a public’s tears been shed

Life now hanging by a thread

The man who wishes he was dead