With torn pockets, as I board,
With smiles and happiness on raod,
Who Shall I ask, what is mine?
Still which feels me fine;
I can’t go there, where all go
Yet I’ve take my raod, to follow
Where only rend pockets bear,
I know, that street i must care.
I may not go there where all,
With loaded pockets and full hands fall,
Where on the sofa sit and drink in glass,
Where there bodies have no chaos.
I shall follow that a way,
Where void heads of strangers lay,
Where amongst baggers, I am Too
Where I’m free with freedom to move.