Sad, lost boy,
Come hold my hand.
We can take a stroll by the river,
Sit on rusted benches
And hand jingling coins to Old John.
He’ll smile and kiss my hand;
Do not fret, he means well.
Stop by the coffee house along the way,
With drinks we don’t know how to order.
We’ll be stuck for an hour as the barista
Talks about his next drag show,
And tells us all about his new wig.
Walk along broken sidewalks,
Tripping over our own feet
As the sunlight fades to purple and black.
Sad, lost boy,
Come hold my hand.