I'm walking through the streets alone,
with plastic bags all on my own.
The tea-room helps me to survive,
A rotten sandwich keeps alive.
I lost my job, my home, my wife,
that put an end to civil life.
My kids don't know me any more,
in my face they slammed the door.
I walk the streets and have no hope,
I drink my booze and shoot up dope.
I kill myself in different ways,
numbered are my lonely days.
All rights belong to its author. It was published on e-Stories.org by demand of Jürgen Jost.
Published on e-Stories.org on 06/10/2021.