You’ve seen me once or twice before,
And passed a glance, but nothing more.
I am the nomad, oft unseen,
I walk the streets and keep them clean.
I sweep the roads on which you walk,
Yet still you find no time to talk,
A brief hello, a simple word,
The time of day remains unheard.
You look away, my conscience screams,
This was not me in youthful dreams.
For in that youth me thoughts were free,
Unfettered by mortality,
I dreamt the life of wealth and fame,
Where no two days would play the same.
The life of love, the life of glory,
With every dawn a different story,
But now those dreams have passed away,
Too tired am I to bid them stay.
Too late for seeds of hope to sow,
Too old am I to watch them grow.
Of all the futures I had planned,
Not one was played with brush in hand.
But what to do should all dreams shatter?
In live or die, who’s choose the latter?
I follow paths of other men,
I sweep them clean and start again,
I walk the streets with shoulders broad,
And sweep the never ending road.