The Tramp The sky is falling again My arthritis is playing up Never known such pain Passer-by, jingle the cup! Buster looks unamused His coat all dirty and fused Curling up in a ball Look pitiful, that’s the rule Stared at, jeered at, hit! They think, ‘Poor, sorry old git!’ Some think I had this coming Think I prefer slumming They don’t know me! What do the hoi polloi see? Dirty, smelly clothes Permanent running nose This life they think I chose Living life on the street Amongst the bums and wino’s They don’t think I can take life’s heat They think I prefer life on the street They look down on me like dirt! I could kill for a freshly ironed shirt! A warm room and a bed Won’t happen…wish I was dead Can’t let them beat me down! Wear what life I have left, with a frown The only way from here is up! Passer-by, jingle the cup! Hey! They threw me a pound! Missed the cup, hit the ground Hey, what do I care? No dignity left to spare! Busters moved closer in to me Warmth between friends you see We’ll get through this old friend See it through to a happier end Looking up, the sky seems clearer Jingle the cup, food and warmth looks nearer! A couple approach, with a pup? Passer-by, jingle the cup Wait a minute, I recognise that face My God! I’d recognise it any place! My daughter has found me, oh the disgrace I shrink into my corner and cover my face A hand touches my head and softly she speaks She says she’s been looking for me, for weeks I look up and see tears on her face I feel so old and such a disgrace She tells me she wants us to come home No need to fend for ourselves and be alone A new fresh start is what we need A damn good bath and a huge feed! Time to go Buster, up you get No need to slum, get dirty and wet I stand up stiffly and move around My meagre possessions all over the ground We make a move to head off home We approach one of me, all alone I stop and hand over my cup “Don’t worry”, I say, “Things will look up…” Melanie Box © 2002 - 2008