Broken Days.

Some broken days fill the air with things that come around
To find emptiness sat upon a fearful lap that God doesn't know
Walking lonely streets with cardboard boxes for some sleep
Eating up the words when there is nothing left inside to keep
Missing hearts with soulful beats where music creates some love
Bearded men grow so old with pavement patterns on their feet
If a beggar asks for help all that happens is another blinkered eye
Smelly socks and sleeping bags led down in front of busy shops
With long old days creeping in and even longer darkened nights
Wrinkled faces drink bottled wine and trousers filled with holes in
Flat caps are worn from dawn to dusk where street lights glisten
And a written note for help on the corners where crimes are rife
Dying days are saddened deep inside a man that has never hated
A stench of thought keeps remembrance high up on the clouds
Where working people stroll on by without even ever taking notice
Seeing real damn difficult times is what homeless lessons teach
We wonder why these roaming Lords of demise are so so sorry
Life trapped in the dilemma of never getting out of this alive 
And in knowing the intensity of another tramp hoping to live
Little dots unnoticed with speckled eyes groaning living to die
Memories of knowing that threw out the black sheep of the family
Winos drink all day to capture images which make a beautiful day
Another drunken brawl over fag ends creeping back into a Rizla
Teardrop happy days watching seagulls above the buildings high
Starving mouth with forks, knives, bread crumbs are on the rocks
Single wishes holding hands praying deeply in unfortunate times.