A broken man lays stretched out on the sidewalk
A cardboard mattress and a newspaper duvet
Some people pass and drop coins in his beggar’s cup
Then a kid on a cycle steals the cup right away

To you, it may not be the crime of the century
But it was all that he had to get himself fed
So, he packs up his home there in front of the bakery
Goes round to the trash bins in search of yesterday's bread

His clothes are a mismatch of discarded garments
His shoes not a pair or even the same size
Nobody speaks to him to ask how he's doing
So, nobody sees the distress in his eyes

He walks to the corner to await the kind people
The one's who bring soup and a warm cup of Joe
He studies the area for his new home location
As he can't stand the thought of having nowhere to go

Time, he has plenty, but a purpose he has not
Just walking the streets in search of himself
Political candidates, they promise to help him
But once their elected they only care for themselves

As stars fill the sky and bones grow very tired
He lays out his mattress and makes up his bed
The sight that we see, may appall and revolt us
But try looking out, from inside his head