The rain doesn’t wash me clean.
It chills my bones as I walk alone
on these cold, homeless streets.
The snow’s not a blanket of white
but shrouds me in its icy sheet
on these bleak, winter streets.
I need a home, somewhere I belong
but you turn your back, close the door
and pretend I chose these streets.
So I trudge on, my head down,
knowing you’re the gruesome beast
prowling these uncaring streets.
