Sidewalk King

My people are those who walk, in tatters
Yes, I suppose, you could say their clothes are rags
They stroll along the evening streets
swallowing life through a brown, paper bag.
Each square cut in the sidewalk you step on
is a yard to someone who calls a box a home
Some would die for just one kind word from you
though they say, "You leave me the hell alone."
Oh, we watch them roam through the jungle
doin' what they gotta do to live
Call them bums - call them fools - call them vagrants -
I call them folks who want something just to give.
Yeah, you may say that they have it good
not worrying about the business-person's cares
I ask you, friend, on this chilly night
do your feet feel half as cold as theirs?
And can you say that you've seen it all?
Have you walked a mile in a vagrant's shoes?
Has heartbreak taken everything you could touch,
leaving you with nothing more to lose?
Oh, on the other hand, how many have dreamed
to be able to stroll in the whisper of a breeze?
And make claim of the street by each step of his feet
reigning over every sidewalk square he sees?
Keep in mind to count your blessings
'cause cruel fate just may take everything
and you'll find yourself giving curtsy
to His Majesty, Sidewalk King.