For five decades he worked and his taxes he did pay
Yet he is a homeless poor pauper today.
A homeless poor pauper thanks to his deceased wife
She gambled their home and their savings and then took her own life,
On the waiting list for a flat from the Council for six months or more
His is a hard life for one of seventy four.
Each day he smokes a few cigarettes and he drinks a few beers
But he is a pauper though he has worked hard for years
For sleeping in an old factory doorway he seems a bit old
And in the depths of Winter he may die of the cold.
Old John is a nice man so gentle and wise
With silver gray hair and chestnut brown eyes
Sitting on a park bench he spends most of his day
It does seem all wrong he must live in this way.
For a Council flat he is obliged for to wait
And by the time his turn comes for him it may be too late
He sleeps in a factory doorway on cold concrete he lay
Unlucky in life but that’s life one might say.