Staring with those sad, sad eyes,
And washing streets with tears;
Sleeping in a cardboard box
That's been 'home' for years.
Coins clink in a metal bowl,
Adding up by days
A loaf of bread for every week,
And maybe two today.
Lady Luck might be smiling,
Or maybe it's a smirk.
She thinks it's her lucky day:
She's got a job to work.
Yet just one day later,
She's longing for the street:
The freedom of sitting on a curb,
Stealing food to eat.
Then, she thrived on pity,
But now she recieves none.
She's seen at most as equal
When all her work is done.
The ones we think unlucky
Are the ones that we can see,
But the street kid in the back
Will have the worst destiny.















Comments
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[link].
--
Grammar matters.
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Don't cry,
Don't raise your eye.
It's only teenage wasteland.
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[link].
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