Without sentiment, they look down from podiums with critical fingers waiving disproval. Cruel but their wrath leaves me uncovered . . . the unwanted one with no shelter.
It's raining down on me and passersby claim it's not their responsibility. Persons of lower disposition spit upon me. I'd cover my face but I'm too weak, not a bite to eat in days.
Caught in hallucinatory haze, encircling my eyes, distorting my sight until the tunnel closes . . . I lay down my life before it's time.
Abandoned . . . you left me here to die . . . forsaken . . . mistaken idenitites isolate and I'm still asking why you hate me . . . please save me . . . please save me . . .
The ending forces me to lie, I'm shaking . . . still flailing against the tide, washing me out to sea . . . I'm drowning.
Calling out but you won't hear me, reaching out but you're not there to pull me up.
Guess I'm stuck in this icy water turning my extremities cold, so exposed I'm naked and nobody knows . . .
Yeah . . . I got a story, if you've got some time. For the change in your pocket I'll recite this rhyme: "No mattress in the park, no comforter in the dark when your back's on concrete and wood . . ."
I know you look at me, you wouldn't trade you're life for mine, but since we are still people, look in my eyes, destitute and longing for attention, I need attention.
Being homeless is not a crime . . .