The Tramp

Discussion in 'Off Topic Area' started by Melanie, Apr 1, 2008.

  1. Melanie

    Melanie Bend the rules somewhat.. Supporter

    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
     

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