Thursday, 22 November 2012

My Case

I rest my case upon the ground,
In which therein my world is found,
I have no home, no place to camp,
My clothes have holes, my feet are damp,
No rent to pay, but then no pound,
My pockets empty and I'm frowned
Upon by those who are begowned,
"Get out of here you theiving scamp"
I rest my case.

I have no goals and I am bound
To be forever shoved around,
My life's a steep ascending ramp
And I am known as 'that old tramp'
So as I pause, upon the ground,
I rest my case.