A solitary figure trudging through the street a tourist of the town at night
Going back over steps he walked before within the confines of his mind
To proud to beg but ask he will seeking enough just to sustain
Shielding the public from the terror and pain playing in his mind again

The cardboard bed he has had for so long fought for against others of his kind
Just trying to survive the streets of this town where he played as a child in his mind
Colliding thoughts of child and man confusing him turning his thoughts obscene
The doorway for bedroom was once a place a toyshop where dreams once had been

This warrior old skilled of honour and pride trained to be the best soldier in the land
When he had fought for a team or was it a people who now would not touch his hand
Those for whom he had fought had quickly forgot as they honoured the fallen men
But no thought for the boys who put down their toys went to war and came home again

Condemnation is his to walk his hometown ignored by those he once knew
Thoughts in their minds no longer of a boy who played with their children as they grew
This man they now see is strange and withdrawn not the kind of person we would like
He shuffles around town, forages in bins talking and it is said he screams in the night

He really should be moved to an appropriate place perhaps the local bobby can help
To rid our nice town of this scruffy old fella and clean up where he has been around
No thought is given to the little boy who ran up and down these streets
None given to the man who survived a war and came home and heard not one drums beat