Strangers toss coins with pity in their eyes-
Pity for what? I wonder
As I hurriedly pick up the 17 cents
That landed thinly on my cardboard cut out.
I lean back against this grimy wall
And cup my hands around my last piece of soul.
My harmonica tells the story that words
Cannot express by varied bends and draws.
Pity.... I am amused by how little they know.
The Passerby know not of all I see,
They know not of all the adventures,
They know not of the stories I could tell-
Not that anyone has asked or cared before...
Ah well, ignorance is bliss is it not?
What's the point in telling that business woman
She means less than nothing to the big picture?
Or telling that Girl Scout no one really cares
And people just want your cookies.
Pity me? Pity the other vagabonds?
Oh please. They must be kidding themselves.
These prissy ******* will be forever blind
That we, the homeless, are top dog;
That we are the champions of this world.