For the homeless man living on the street
Sitting alone, and cold with nothing to eat
What do you say when you walk past?
To the homeless alcoholic, the social outcast
Would you stop and ask him his story?
Knowing that he once had glory.
Young, he served in the Vietnam War
Missing out on the day his son was born.
He came home bruised and burned
Proud of every scar and metal he earned
At home, he struggled to survive day by day
Slowing, breaking him down to the man he is today
He drank from the bottle to cope
Tapping his veins to take the dope
Losing everything to the bottle
He went from job to job
His wife and children went away
Now he's waiting for Judgment Day
Now he lives in the box
As he waits for the nightmare to end
Now you know his story, would you be his friend?
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