Just a story about someone I use to know |
I saw an old man on the street today, he sold pencils he had in a cup. One leg missing, no shoe on the other. I stopped and asked him, what's up? Why are you sitting here on the street, Selling pencils from that cup? Do you feel sorry for losing a leg, how is this where you end up? He spoke very slowly and made me cry, when he told me his story, how he wanted to die. I use to be hansome, well like he said, before my country called. But when I came back, they all look at me, how my body they said had been mauled. I did what was asked, I went off to war. I was one of many heard the call. Some came back with wounds that show, some never came back at all. I can't get a job, they think I can't work, with no leg what can I do? I can't seem to show them I can still be a man. I'm one of the unlucky few. I didn't forget my duty to go, when uncle Sam sent out the word. But I am forgotten and the help I might need. My voice seems not to be heard. But as lonely and sad as my life is today, I'd go again if they call. For I love my country with all of it's faults, to be important again I would crawl. Don't judge me for sitting here on the street, remember I once had a home. Now I am a disabled vet. It is simply how I am known. |