holy helpless homeless man
won't you sing a tune
bewildered by the sore-eye sights
made brighter by the moon
you had a voice as clear as glass
you made the women swoon
but pack your bags and say good bye
the train is coming soon

once in a while when you were young
before this bird had flown
streets of gold, they shone with light
before these patches all were sewn
looking in your wrinkled eyes
is when I come back home
you and I, we understand
what it means to be alone.