The beggar and the beast lay together mildly comforted inside the cardboard box.
Timely, safe asleep, no corruption in those paper walls; a haven of the trust.
Winter swept away by increasing winds of decadence sings the man to sleep.
Hello Dirty Face, point your beard to downtown synergy, embraced by grimy streets.
You were saved, you were oxygen engraved
on the corporation's cancer lung, the rooftop of the dollar song,
the birth of the brave.
How so free, as the monster sleeps soundly,
as the wind so gently rips his skin away.
The beggar and the beast fell so swiftly through the years. Cash was traded in for time.
Boots sloshed in the rain, stepping puddles round the homeless men: "Brother, spare a dime."
Beast obeyed, saw his subtle mirror image in the water on the ground.
And at then, set his major plan in motion, tossed his wallet down the drain.
You were one, as a human to the sun,
now a martyr of the bricks, happy sacrifice within,
straight from cradle to a sin.
Now a man, pitting bone against concrete
like a solo performance.
The beggar and the beast, never quite one and the same, moving backwards through his time.
Top parade, at the head of every table with a thorn lodged in his side.
Freedom sang like an opera in Tent City, but he'd never heard the call.
Destiny ripped his fortune down to cardboard in the world where he belonged.
You were He, social demon on the screen,
petting comments on a rose, to the men you'd never know.
Now you see, social outcast on the streets,
feeling content; for the first time, truly free.