Wandering around the street

Looking for something to eat

Asking for money

But they didn't give any

 

The cold, polluted air

Sticks on my hair

Nowhere to stay

I don't know what to say

 

Walking a thousand miles

Just to find some tiles

For me to sell

And you to tell

 

I am underestimated

It makes me devastated

How do I survive

If I'm not alive

 

Treated as hindrance

In every circumstance

This is not the end

I need a friend

 

 

~Z