in the alley far away, sitting down on a piece of clay,
watching out for ravaged dogs, spying feet with no socks,
only bags for clothes around my people, i feel stalked by a peephole,
and this is only the beginning....
i lay in wait for my mother, to bring something home for shelter,
i work and help other fellows, but my cry is smothered with my pillow,
other kids go to school, with new clothes each year,
they often spy me walking around, and laugh and giggle each time
oh their so lucky as to have a dime....
there are rats and bugs, that live with me,
not to mention being on the streets,
if only i could be rich like some people i see on t.v.,
they don't know just how lucky they be....
i'll probably die this way, with nothing but this piece of clay,
there's not one day, i don't wish to be,
a child with shelter, love, and money...