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Posted by
on Monday, October 31 @ 17:52:23 UTC
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: The Successful Bum
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on Monday, October 31 @ 17:52:23 UTC
jhkl writes:: " There's a bum sitting below my window,
I look at him everyday, thinking of his shadow;
The lonely thing creeping around - the only thing that'll stick by him,
Through thick and thin, when he's joyous or grim,
Only his shadow will stick by him.
It's an interesting concept when one thinks about it,
The darkest part of you will follow you forever.
I see countless people continually walking by, looking, staring...
Ah they don't care!
There's the smell of money in the air!
On with their busy days - successful businessmen they are,
Stop to think of a man's dreams??? Why?
What good is that bum on the street?
What's he ever done for me?
Why should I help him?
What will helping him do for me?
I've grown to hate this bum, he represents everything that I've ever
wanted to do in life.
I'm stuck in an office, with a good job, and a wife.
My life is all about the money, but he tried for something great.
I've just accepted being second rate.
I'll be forgotten when I die;
at least this bum has touched one person...
I've touched none.
When the smell of money is in the air,
you can bet that people won't care,
about humans, about dreams, about goals,
about aspirations, about hopes, about souls.
People clamber over this substance,
pieces of paper, that burn quickly, like the fire in hell.
I stop to think for just a moment at what I've become,
what aspirations did I have, not too long ago??
Forgotten, these old hopes are; I just stare out the window.
Society deems me as being successful, but I can't see my shadow.
I'm too perfect, I've got everything a man wants,
money, greed, women, power, and a life that churns my stomach in knots.
But this man out here, he had a conscience...
A vision for the future, a plan in his mind, and he went for it!
That's more than I can say...
I've just been content to give my life away,
to the things that I hate, to the things I despise.
I look down from the window with bitter contempt; he tried for a goal.
He had a soul!
People don't know his story but I do,
I was the one who put him on the street.
Oh yes, this man's name was Robert C. Blangrid,
Wanted to be a pastor this man did.
Like everybody else, I told him that he was crazy,
He told everyone that they were nuts; he thought life was like a daisy.
Thought that he could make it with a loan from my bank,
Got the notion of being one of "God's chosen ones" in his crank.
Tried to start up a church, but after the first month I had to foreclose,
Complained about the fact that all he had now were his clothes.
Came to me begging for help; pleading to get him a house.
Fat chance! I cried, kyboshing his life like a mouse trap would a mouse.
Go out on the street, said I, I don't care!
There's the smell of money in the air!
Went out on the street he did,
and I've been looking at him out the window ever since.
When the smell of money is in the air,
you can bet that people won't care,
about humans, about dreams, about goals,
about aspirations, about hopes, about souls.
People clamber over this substance,
pieces of paper, that burn quickly, like the fire in hell.
Damn! I'm stuck in this bloody office dying each and every day,
But this man's alive! He knows that he tried life his way,
Without all of the perfections that accompany life today.
Anger and loathing flood my soul, "I've got to get a goal!"
When suddenly I realize that all of this anger is useless, and it'll take its toll.
My feelings subside, and I mellow out,
My real senses start to come about.
I still have contempt for the bum on the street,
but for a different reason - why doesn't he do something with his life?
Why doesn't he get a job, or at least stab himself with a knife?
What good is the bum on the street?
I'll tell you, to be an inconvenience...
He interrupts my busy days, and makes me stop and question my life.
Those questions are just too damn painful.
"The bum on the street"... Hmph! Reminds me of my son,
They both got shadows - I got none. "
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