I’m ice cold and my hands are blue.
I feel the wind right through my shoe.
I’ve got no roof or home to shelter me,
the human discard of society.
I’m a homeless man in a heartless time.
I’ve got no money. That’s my crime.
Once I had friends and dreams and plans.
But that world slipped through my hands.
On dark streets, disregards the ruling mood.
One begs for change in hopes of getting food.
Eventually the elders turn to drink.
A man can’t mourn his life if he can’t think.
I just can’t get a grip with fingers bent.
I live in shame but that’s irrelevant.
I eat from trash and pack a cardboard bed.
I fight for life while wishing I were dead.
I’m a homeless man in a heedless time.
To treat a soul this way must be a crime.