This is the story of a good man,
who’s Christian name was Pete,
though he started at the top of the tree,
he ended up upon the street.
He sleeps in Cardboard City,
with other people just the same,
to see them in their homes of paper,
should make their families feel deep shame.
He gets nothing from the social,
as he has no fixed address,
with his matted hair and whiskers,
he looks a filthy dirty mess.
He rummages through old trashcans,
for something edible to eat,
perhaps a worn out coat or jumper,
or some old shoes to fit his feet.
As he shuffles down back alleys,
with his hacking chesty cough,
he goes to a grotty kitchen,
for his daily bowl of broth,
His life is kept inside a carrier bag,
all his precious souvenirs,
as he frequently stops to look inside,
his eyes fill up with tears.
For this bag holds a hundred photo’s,
of his family and his friends,
all the people who rejected him,
when for himself he could not fend.
He’d spent a lifetime looking after them,
but when misfortune brought him down,
these people bit the hand that fed them,
and hounded him, right out of town.
Where once a wealthy man had stood,
with his chest so full of pride,
there now stoop’s a broken bagman,
who’s tears of pain cannot be dried.