the concrete in my pillow, a box is my home,
a newspaper blowing in the wind is my shield of warmth,
i ask for hand outs, not begging i will work for you,
but i have no identification, or address,
the goverment tossess me aside,
but yet i am a vietnam vet, there are so many of me.
i am the child that cries in the night of hunger,
i am the child that walks the street, home is to abrusive,
sleeping in a car, i am the parent that is disappointed, of this out come,
this situtiation that put's me here is a lay off and more,
i am the persian gulf, the world war hero that defended my counrty,
and in return i am giving the back of a hand and line,
i was promised so much more, my will is free, but yet i am not,
do not look at me in discuss, turn away way, compare me to others do not,
i am strong, my will is more.
speak to me, and hear my story, tell all what i say,
because it can happen to you,
i am the conversation peice, on the road side curb, the stares as you roll your window up, shaking your head in awe, you fool, i am you in the end, and your're me, as time does not stop with one,
i am your brother, sister or friend,
my friend i am you.
4-10-92
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