He sits all day, looking at our world
Neither willing nor eager to join in
He is lost in his own thoughts
Nobody knows wondering about what...
Maybe he thinks of luxury and comfort
Maybe of the life he is forced to live
Or simply of the joys he is blessed with
The silent happiness of being free...
No matter the pity we feel for him
His ragged clothes, the broken teeth
But his appearance is just outwardly
For inside he is the richest man...
Though his home is a bench, a paved path
He lives under the sun until it departs
But Then he turns over and embraces sleep
With no burden of promises he has to keep...
While we live in plush homes
Apparently unaware of the worries of food
Sure of waking up the next morning
Only because we cannot sleep...
Which of these fates is better?
I cannot decide
To die each day in a golden cage
Or to die once on the stones, be free...
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