SONG OF THE LONESOME DRIFTER

His mind was like a furnace

And his legs were like a stoke.

Imagination's embers

Were dying for a poke.

With bias in the gutter

Few streets were hard to scorn.

The past was dead to reason,

The future still unborn.

"The present, that's what matters,

The present, aye!" coughed he.

"I'll have some pretty lady

To pass the time with me.

I'll not be out-of-spirits

When I find the one I need.

I'll not look so downtrodden

When I pump her with my seed.

She'll know she's got a friend

When she looks me in the eye.

I've known these streets too thoroughly

To settle for a lie.

'You'll have to learn the hard way',

They told me with a grin.

I've learnt my lesson truly,

On that I'll swear to gin!

With danger as my master

I've trod the dusty road,

And no poor fool can flatter me

Or lie about the load."

So saying he sauntered onwards

Through heaven-knows-what-hell.

The streets were made for walking,

Of that he knew too well!

The air was turning colder,

The light was growing dim,

The crowds were spilling out from work,

But they cold-shouldered him.

The moon was shining faintly

Through some overhanging cloud.

He stood and watched it shimmer,

Transfixed and not so proud.