In a world where trust
Is all but lost
In resentful wasted years
I count the cost

Where do dreams go
When I wake up broken and alone
I find no comfort in a smiling face
Or the rat infested allies
Of the human race

A kind word has no substance
For my sour belly
The sounds of the city streets
Are a constant nag
A cold, cold wind
Seeps through
My reclusive life of rags

Yet I have no *******
No riches to wed
Just the essential
Bags of resentments
Where I lay my head
And dream of things
I should have done or said

Too many years
And too much wine
Too many issues
To unwind
Cardboard shelters
With magazine mats
Is where I lay
My quitter's hat...