He's never been a thief but he'll steal to eat
And once because it was cold and he needed socks
People never stare but they glance his way once or twice
Trying to figure out how he ended up on the street
How did he end up such a god-forsaken deadbeat
He doesn't figure, he knows the blocks
The ones full of scorn and the ones that are nice
Where he can safely lay down and take a load off his feet
Worn out from another day of life on the sidewalks
Another day of absorbing all the little shocks
Occasionally he thinks about a long-time ago life in paradise
Growing up in West Covina in the SoCal heat
Chugging RC Cola with a mouthful of Pop Rocks
Listening unironically to Public Enemy and Vanilla Ice
Copping an occasional cigarette his only real vice
He wanted to be something, an actor or an athlete
Dreamed of making money, investing in stocks
Didn't ever think he'd be holding a sign to entice
Strangers to give him change, anything he can entreat
It's all routine now, plead, accept, eat, repeat
He never could get comfortable punching time clocks
World's worst follower of everyone's best advice
Still has a problem with marching to a conformist beat
Hating paying rent or utility bills or anything so orthodox
Refused to move useless reports from the out to the in box
He's not like the people scurrying about like little blind mice
Hasn't ever had to hit control, alt, delete
Lives a life of freedom, doesn't need keys for any locks
Doesn't feel he ever really had much to give up or sacrifice
Nothing owns or controls him, being on his own will suffice
No comments:
Post a Comment