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It shakes off the bad dreams of the night before
Underneath the sickly blue neon sign that
Buzzes it's contempt for him.
It's eyes stay closed not wanting to see
The misery that lay before him 
Down the grey street.

It lumbers along in boots of pain, hair on fire
And bones that want to escape the shriveled skin
That once beheld a man of
Dreams and satiny wishfulness.
It plods along past windows whose treasures
Escape him while floating
Down the grey streets.

It thirsts for a taste, just a taste to escape
The reality and the birthing of fear.
A quarter here, a quarter there from
Sneering people whose disgust is broad
And unforgiving to those whose trek is unbroken
Down the grey streets.

Night soon falls on the denizen of cardboard
As it approaches the lair of others who
Through bent light discuss the words on
Shredded documents that preview their lives.
They each have a fable to tell if you listen to souless songs
Down the grey streets.

A crumbled statue whose fetal position
Lays between rags and dirt, prays for dreams
Of gossamer wings to carry him away
Far from the scourge of us and the
Misery we freely give him as we trudge
Down the grey streets.

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