He is lonely with none in his hand, For his daily needs and food demand, Yet he deems himself a man of thought Though no coins to publish what he wrote.
Still he sticks to honour and its cost. He would like to guide though he is lost. What he wants from life is just some love, For the trust in self and just a shove.
Where is love if coins do not support? Life itself will **** it and abort. Love costs quiet a lot to live and grow; It can't live on thoughts to get aglow.
Man of thought, you've lived deprived of fun, Spent your time in gloom, no light of sun. Can't you manage short of love to live If you want to keep your thoughts alive?