A swath of fabric worn and old
Patches upon patches
The shoulders worn beyond repair
No protection from the bitter cold
Hardly a coat to protect the little man
Who hurries along the cobbled streets
Of his cold and clouded city
A denizen of little want
Serving mother Russia with little pay
Harldy enough to buy a new cloak
He douses his candles to save them
And steps lightly to save his shoes
To buy a new cloak to keep him warm
A necessity giving hope in his dreary life
Brightening his mood
He steps out in his new cloak
That he scrimped and saved for a year
Feeling like a rich man in his warmth
A few days of happiness bought
A great expense for a lowly man
Taken by harsh men of ill repute
So broken was the little man
He died very soon
Haunting the people of his city
For the cloak taken from him.