So what's a matter, down-trod man,
scruffy, with your suit all torn?
living in the underpass-
You look so worn.
So what's a matter down-trod man,
The nights are getting very cold
You're in the knackers yard of life
and prematurely old
Pale and peakys what you are
you look like you haven't slept in days
do i toss the kindness coin
and meet your gaze?
I met her on Tinder date,
a stunner, with cupid lips,
with cheekbones high as Everest,
and hooded eyelids.
I held her hand during the film-
junkie hands, sweaty and white,
her eyes, dilated, stared at me,
and fixed me in her sight.
I slipped into her brand new car
with leather seats and all the trim;
and listened to her lifes story
behind the radios din.
There's a layby that i know,
she said, and we pulled over there,
and made uncomfortable love
over and over.
She gave me something in a drink
or kissed a pill into my lips;
that was the last thing i knew-
her cold, cold fingertips.
This junkie bitch has got you too
when I awoke and looked around,
just a windswept underpass,
and some others groaned,
and this i why i bide my time,
scruffy, with my suit all torn
living in the underpass-
and look so worn.
original
So what's a matter, handsome man,
Slumped inside a doorway,
and look so worn.
So what's a matter handsome man,
The nights are getting very cold.
You're in the knackers-yard of life
and prematurerly old.
Pale and peakys what you are-
you look like you haven't slept in days;
your face is thin, your eyes are tired
and can't keep my gaze.
I met her on Tinder date,
a brown haired-beauty with cupid-lips,
cheekbones high as Everest,
and polished fingertips.
I held her hand througout the film
clammy hands that just weren't right-
her eyes, wide-open, stared at me,
and fixed me in her sight.
She whispered things throughout the film,
words that I won't repeat,
not the sort of thing thats good
on a first date.
She told me all about herself
her childhood and all about her dreams;
her speaking wove a gauze of sound
of strange listening.
She took me to the place she lived,
all quiet, broken down,
as if everyone had departed-
the wrong side of town.
She fed me fruit, I drank her wine,
we danced barefoot and drank till three;
she put her fingers to my lips
and smiled at me.
When i awoke, I rubbed my eyes
not believing what i saw,
men like me, somehow trapped
for evermore
grimacing, or caught in speech,
in words that would not come,
as if a dream or nightmare
had struck them dumb.
That is why I loiter here
scruffy, with my suit all torn,
slumped inside a doorway,
and look so worn.
Just kidding.