Lost in a world not my own

The whispers of change in a unforgiving world
Oh lord why have you let me live alone in this cold world not my own,
Without father or friend,
Family or kin,
They say the pen is mightier then the sword,
But words from a friend will end your life,
Who can pretend as they dine on the taste of your flesh on the cold wind,
Or the feeling of the emptiness of one's soul when he has no where to go,
Yet it's not the man living on the streets of yesterday's dreams of a broken past,
who calls out in so much pain Well then and does it mean anything?
But a man of means,
Maybe not rich,
for who really has enough,
And the more we get the more we want,
Though we can't take it all with us when we take the dirt nap,
So why pretend,
You wake up in a haze of yesterday's memories,
Not of cowboys and Indian's,
As we burn the memories that ant our own,
And as our bridges go up in smoke,
Not knowing if the wind will blow again,
Without family or friend
And without faith can life really begin again,
Living and dieing as some sad carecter in a dime store novel,
And when your soul is dining on the flesh of someone's broken dreams or past memories of there pain,
You remember when your book gets good that even my country has turned her back on me,
Though you may not understand my passion or pain,
But once I had nothing was happy,
Then I get a wife who saved my life,
To have it taken away,
As the scarecrow blows,
Not knowing your rooster as passed away along the way side a long time ago,
And your dog has moved away,
Leaving for sunnier days they say,
To the changing winds of yesterday's memories,
We see the mastery of Gods plan to find out there's no God!
And those prayers you uddered in your beer last night,
Went in vain,
As you cry your self to sleep,
Wile the children of the night are sleeping in the rain,
As all Gods children asked why!
For who would condemn the innocent,
And stand watching as there blood fill up the empty streets of home
With broken dreams!
When your soul is dining
On the flesh of yesterday's memories
Of times or places of once was
Once a prominent man
Now a has been
Living in the old days of yesterday
You dare ask God why
When he is having the time of his life
Playing in the games of life
With his loving wife
Now don't cry over the dead mans grave
He ant dead yet
But he is forgotten
Because his mind has gone rotten
Like a head of cabbage
Left to long in the fields of yesterday's memories
When times were good
But in the wind who can pretend
Even the mightiest will say
The wind will change on the best of days
Even when you pray and can count on them
You can't
And they will be like all your fair weather friends
And leave you alone yet again
Lost to time in the fields of yesterday's memories
Like fine wine it could sour to a finer times of yesterday's memories!