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The local tramp is a trinket Sitting on the floor Not in a proper house With a bed or a door He was quite a stinker And looked tired too He looked he needed a bed And some rest- phew.
#household I'm the bed that they lie on. The blanket that, keeps them warm. I can be their home, and with me they roam. Tired, hungry and cold, this is how they live.
No one told me life would be easy They never told me life was hard Silver spoons I never knew Privilege belonging the chosen few.
A kind old man Came yesterday Gave me water But walked away I stared at him As he turned his heel No thanks I spoke How must he feel.
I love my bed, And I'm grateful for it. Not everyone gets a bed. Think of that next time you sleep. There are some people Left out in the cold.
Underneath the railway bridge Early morning fog Sits a lonely homeless man And his faithful dog Stands up tall and stretches 'Rover' does the same Another hurtful round Of the begging/busking...
I strolled down the old dirt road to the local bar. I arrived at the small bar and ordered a scotch. I sat on the worn out leather stool and put my head on the wood counter. I sighed.
I'd slowly accumulate bits and pieces of things I found and construct a makeshift home, under a bridge ideally because of the shelter from the elements, and also because I'd pretend to be a troll.
Cursing, Swearing... At an eviction letter. Hoping, Praying... For something better. Worrying, Fretting... Nowhere to live. Owing, Paying... No money To give. Loosing, Everything... Out on the street.
Feeling kind of homeless or I mean I am homeless. I have nowhere to go, I have nowhere to stay, I have nowhere to sleep or eat, and I have nowhere to call mine. I feel kind of lost or I mean I am...
Lying in her doorway The shoppers pass her by Ignore her plea for 40p They never wonder why She is just a nobody to them Not worthy of a life They've not considered Her life so full of strife Her...
Birds in the sky, they've all gone to bed. Drops have faded into puddles and the leaves are dead. No-one's alive at this time of night. I'm all alone and basking in the moonlight.
The moonlight lit up my weary face, Which was filled with disgust and disgrace. I walked at a slow and feeble pace, I was a just a hopeless, lost case.
The lightbulb swings its glare, Showing only half at a time. Though the dank smell tells me enough. This place is a squatters prime.
I'm looking for peace, But I'm falling to pieces. I just feel like shit, And I'm covered in faeces. Piss, puke and bruises, I ask for some help but I just get refuses.
I rang Beth again and again until she answered and when she did she was crying... "Cl...air...e" she sobbed. "Beth, what's happened?" "My stuff are gone and...And..." "What?" I quizzed.
Hannah looked nervously at her cracked watch. "He should be here by now"she anxiously whispered to herself.
Do you see the man with straggly hair. No money for food or change for fare. His nails are black and teeth are rotten, He knows more than you've forgotten.
He sits, an empty day ahead, Eyes so tired, a heavy heart. Some prayers, his thoughts within his head. Seems no one cares if this man were dead.
I sit up in my little 'home' Not made of bricks, not made of wood, not even a little piece of stone. This is what I live in; A cardboard box-room enough for one.
Why is it so cold out tonight. The winds tearing at my whispery grey beard, again. I shift body weight to keep my chin away from the bitterness of night.