The wind blows hard tonight,
It's a cold, damp, disturbing wind,
And I think about,
Below,
By the gutters,
The men on the street.
I hope some of them have,
At least,
A bottle that's warm.
It's when you're on the street,
That you notice,
EVERYTHING
EVERYTHING
Is owned,
And there are locks on,
EVERYTHING.
This is the way a democracy works.
You get what you can,
Try to keep that,
And add to it,
If possible.
Until possible.
This is the way a dictatorship works too,
Once they either enslave,
Or destroy their
Derelicts.
A newspaper flaps by.
With time,
We just forget the men below.
In either case,
Tonight,
It's a hard, cold,
Wind.
