I'm walking through the streets alone,

with plastic bags all on my own.

The tea-room helps me to survive,

A rotten sandwich keeps alive.


I lost my job, my home, my wife,

that put an end to civil life.

My kids don't know me any more,

in my face they slammed the door.


I walk the streets and have no hope,

I drink my booze and shoot up dope.

I kill myself in different ways,

numbered are my lonely days.



© Jürgen Jost, 2015




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