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Sitting on the corner of the street
Sitting on the corner of the street
Sitting on the corner of the street I watch people pass in their designer gear, bags overflowing and folders galore, living life like the upper hand no time for the poor homeless man.
Looking for shelter day and night, nowhere to go nowhere to turn, selling the big issue isn’t what I thought I’d be doing on the corner of the street, searching for food little of my many problems and worries, cafes close and out come the bags of over dated food and stale bread.
Weekends come here comes the torture drunken hooligans torment me, pushed and prodded blood and scars, the life of me on the corner of the street.
When it rains my best friend is there to comfort me the shabby green coat I found one day on the corner of the street, no jobs out there for the poor homeless man begging on the corner of the street makes me really want to cry, the life of the poor homeless man isn’t the life I used to know.
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