He is one of the craziest men you’ve ever seen,

His body runs on cigarettes, coffee and methamphetamine.

His teeth are gone, his face covered in blisters,

They say he was locked up for raping one of his sisters.

I heard when he was in he saw the hole once or twice,

And it left him cold and dark, living on dollar rice.

People pass him and call him a bum,

As he stumbles the streets with a bottle of cheap rum.

He lost it all; house, kids and wife,

He has scars on his face from the blade of a knife.

But has anyone ever stopped and offered him help?

This poor, ignorant, forgotten whelp.

In this world now filled with shysters and sneaks,

I suppose there is no more room for us helpless freaks.

And so we make our beds in the street at night,

Loathing the dark and praying for light.

Trapped in this endless cycle until the day we die,

And as we slip away alone and broke we always wonder why.