Rawboned man, ashen face with flopping green pants
Lately, I have been seeing you alone in parking lots
Wondering what brought you to your circumstance
Fidgeting, anxious fingers pronging newspaper slots
Your sullen look, your charcoal under eye makes me think
That you are weary and its been quite a while since you slept
Heavy head looking down as you shrink
Over to look at the ground where might be kept
A dollar, a quarter, to keep you from becoming extinct
You cross my path again while my engine is humming
That uncanny shiver that strangest of links
Comes over me, like a lonely guitar strumming
Adrift you are there, I look and see out my view
You and the Lexus and the corvette of gold,
Things of the genteel, things of the few
Things that you will probably never hold
Cricketing night comes and again I ponder
Where are you, what is your fate
What bush or bench do you lie under?
Are you lying on bumpy ground or in narrow hall?
What happens to a man’s life to make it too late
What makes a man tumble, what makes a man fall?
Many times life has hope and ends in sorrow
Tatterdemalion Man, Will you make it to the morrow?