Slowly they walk,
Across the floor,
When suddenly they stop,
When there’s a knock at the door.

They stare at their feet,
Which are bare,
In hopes that their shoes will soon be repaired.

The door slams,
And they start to swear,
At the people that put them there,
As they walk from here to there.

When they die,
Their rut is bare,
Which is easily filled by people with tears.

Tears in their hearts,
That gave care to a person,
That they meet somewhere.