To him the world was cold,

It was ice white buildings taller than the eye,

With pavements made of asphalt

And people who would lie.


But no he, no

For he sits with the pigeons and he rattles a cup,

He's begging for you money,

He's begging for your love.


Snubbed out cigarette butts,

Line the way to his bed,

He counts his every blessing,

And each time he's been misled.


One day you will see him,

Hidden by the road,

The next day you are passing,

The pigeons will be alone.