In the arches,
where you sleep,
what do you feel,
and what do you think,
and what do you say,
yes,
to those when you pray,
do you feel jealous and bitter and hurt,
living amongst the dirt?
I wouldn’t blame you,
I wouldn’t blame you at all,
and maybe it gives you a sense of purpose,
but I cannot say,
I cannot say,
as you find shelter from the snow and the pouring rain,
yes, I wonder do thoughts of jealousy drive you insane,
do thoughts of jealousy drive you insane?
And those people with everything
do they make you feel sick,
who at the thought of the homeless like yourself,
do not give a second thought to you,
under the arch where you sleep.
Do you think of them as evil,
do you wish them misery,
as the wind whistles through,
and you freeze in an icy breeze,
and they sit, living it up,
with all their home comforts and luxuries?
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