Dunstan Dalton was a peculiar man,
roamed the Georgia-Pacific railroad line.
Just an old man kickin dirty tin cans,
no particular destination in mind.
He kept the racoons and skunks company,
waitin for the next slow movin freight train.
Always hungry and clean out of money,
has no modern worries, can't complain.
Strugglin to keep warm on a cold fall night,
wore an old coat he found in the town dump.
Walkin down the street, you'd see he ain't right,
one thing for sure, he'd be gettin himself drunk.
Eats handouts from restaurants and missions,
drinks cheap Ripple wine to warm his insides.
Homelessness was his life and condition,
no social problems with which to collide.
You won't see Dunstan very much longer,
he'll be hoppin the next freight headed out.
Who is it, him or us that's the stronger,
no lines etch his face from worry and doubt.
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