There lived a young lad called Mark.
Who lived by himself, under a bridge in the Park.
By day he would wander around, alone.
He was lost and lonely with no place to call his own.
Mark, though, had a magic trick.
He could play a good tune with a couples of old cans and a pair of drumsticks.
By day Mark would set up his show.
Tin cans, his drumsticks, a few lights to create atmosphere, give a bright glow.
As the day turned to night and the sky began to turn red
Just as young children were going to bed.
Mark would play his tunes on his cans.
It had the sound of a large marching band.
People would gather around in large crowds.
They would gather in all weather, sun, rain, grey clouds.
People would listen, clap, sing a long, being loud.
People started to leave money in a hat on the floor.
Mark was hoping one day to have enough to rent a place with his own front door.
For now though Mark was happy as he was, by day he was still alone.
This gave him time to think, maybe he would add a saxaphone.
Just rambling
