It’s the crack of dawn in Asphalt Square,
As the man meets the Summer’s glare.
Through tired eyes and bottled drink,
He doesn’t have time to stop and think,
About anything that’s just a pipe-dream.
He doesn’t have room for pride or esteem.
The sun sheds light on the grimy streets,
A sorrowful chronicle of Life’s defeats.
He ponders about what the world has become,
Since Emotion left him, since he became numb.
He’s given up hope for a better day,
So he sits in contemplation, his Dog astray.
“Excuse me mate, have you got any change?”
A dollar and sixty-three cents; a poor man’s wage.
It may seem tedious, but it’s his only chance;
All you offer him is your over-the-shoulder glance.
Yet he still says “God bless you” and you feel it slice.
That could have been you with another roll of the dice.
The Unforgiving earth rejects this poor soul,
And he sinks down into Torment’s black hole.
We run through our lives, without a thought nor a care,
To this other existence, so lonely, so bare.
You take for granted all that you own,
Having never slept upon a bed of stone.
It’s over, the end of the day draws near
He makes a decision, “over here.”
As he builds his Cardboard Mansion
With the common sense of Apprehension
He looks at his old friend, who wags his tail;
His coat is matted and his frame is frail.
The dark blanket of night settles over us all,
And with this comes the typical pall,
Wrapping itself ‘round the man’s sullen heart,
Which has been tossed around and torn apart.
But throughout all the turmoil and strife,
He still refuses to live by the knife.
He thinks to himself, “If time is borrowed,
To whom could I possibly owe my loan?”