waste of space is what they are told
little change is given with a scold
tattered clothes and a worn out face
regardless of age they all look cold
It doesn't make a difference
Some followed their dreams while others filled their veins with venom to spark the pain inside the seems  
It doesn't make a difference
We all have choices
As we choose apartments
They choose park benches
As we choose which stiped tie
They choose a free flannel from a thrift store on the SouthSide
So get in their shoes
Though they may not have any
Lay your head on a cold brick wall
And beg for a penny
Watch every face pass by like a ghost  
Like the ones that haunt you in your sleep
As your body tries to sink into the street
Just try to feel bold
And then maybe think to ask next time
What's it like out here alone in the cold?