• The poor old man sits lonely and cold,
    no one to love, no one to hold.
    He always sees people, not a thought goes his way,
    As he sits thinking in his dark alleyway.

    Wicked and cruel the harsh wind blows,
    Nobody cares, nobody knows.
    He thinks of a family, and lets out a sigh.
    The first drops of rain can be heard nearby.

    He closes his eyes and counts to four...
    All is over.
    He is alone no more.