The cold driving rain soaks my torn old overcoat,

It wieghs a ton when it gets as wet as it can,

My old battered trilby hat has taken a hammering,

The clouds are heavy and grey, I’m a lonley old man.

Walking the streets, looking for things to find,

Can be so cold, sometimes, I wish I would die,

But my old feet still keep on wandering,

And I suppose I will just have to get by.

Did I tell you I went back to my hometown?

I sat on a carpark wall watching people too and frow,

I known most of these people all my life,

Thank goodness nobody could see how low you can go.

Because my hair is grey and I have a grey beard,

These old friends they keep passing me by,

They do not recognose me in any shape or form,

And with my tears I sit and quietly cry.

Young people shout! “look there’s a dirty old tramp,”

You can you smell that old bastard from here,

All they see is lost hope, digust and utter dispair,

I represent a future they fear.

Then a lady walks past that I knew well,

In a moment I see a second glance in her eye,

Did something spark off a memory?

Had she regonised something as she walked on by.

So I stood up and went to look in some bins,

You never know what you may find,

I was roaming around in my hometown,

One day it might be peace of mind.