I dished up plates as he walked by
greasy stringy dyed red streaks
guitars hanging on all sides
the smells of unwashed body reeks
tattooed fingers and a lip ring
soft smooth tenor from his soul
man can that pirate guy sing
but his street life takes it's toll
never smiles, furtive eyes
scared of those that steal for drugs
this pirate garb is his disguise
but offers homeless friends his hugs
he saunters off to write some songs
this strange man caught my writer's eye
making money to right some wrongs
I was compelled to write about this guy
the life of the homeless is a mystery
the tales they could tell us, wild
about their sordid history
I'm sure that it would not be mild
and now I pray that they can sleep
Jesus loves these poor souls too
and for their sins, He did weep
they're the same to Him as me and you