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His footsteps echoed softly through the early morning hour
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The slowness of his move should be a warning
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From the trash he digs a pair of socks and yesterday's flowers
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What a way to start a monday-morning
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He might have been a carpenter at one time in his life
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Built a lot of homes but never had one
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Or he might have been a poet who'd come upon some hard times
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And all that he had lived was just them sad poems
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He might have been a singer whit a lot of promise
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Cigarettes and whisky ruined his throat
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And it's hard to remember even a simple tune
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Or the words to the songs that he had wrote
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Take me back to Memphis, I've got to do some things
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I've been in this city way too long
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And it lays heavy on my mind when I see another man
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Having to make the sidewalk, having to make the sidewalk his home
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Sidewalk Hobo
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| Hans Theessink |
