Worn out, weathered, tattered and torn
The holes in his clothes drew nothing but scorn
How evil, how wicked, how thoughtless those boys
The same ones post-Christmas who flaunted their toys
No bikes, no consoles, no designer clothes
Just another year passing with nothing to show
No meal on the table, no hope, not a jot
Just two pissed parents and stains in the cot
Just when will he see an end to this shit?
Is this life, is it really, this can’t be it
No one to buy new clothes, clean off the rack
Not even a mother to sew on a patch.
The world can be cruel, like these kids on the street.
Smirking and laughing at the shoes on his feet
Not Nike, Adidas or other such brand
But a hand me down or charity from Salvation’s hand.