It could be sunny, raining, sleeting or snowingBut, 'The Man in Rodney Square'� Is always thereThere with his two left shoes and Bugle Boy jeansCorduroy shirtAnd a jacket that's faded to a light color greenHis beard is unshaved and head is spotted grayHe walks up and down the street as if he's lost his wayI see him from time to time as I wait for the busWalking up to total strangers as if they were someone he could trustAsking but never pleading for that elusive dollar billTalking to himself as if his friends were realConstantly patting himself down to find his only cigaretteHe puts it in his mouth even though it's soaking wetFrom the rain he's been walking in for yearsThe same rain that falls as heavy as his tears'�I imagine of courseBecause I'm not there when his pride runs thinI'm not there when he wishes this life was pretendNor was I there when whatever happened to him, landed him on the streetsWhich is why I think of him during my nightly featsBecause I'm sure at some point in his life he was just like me Never imaging that I might be Going to sleep underneath the sting of the winter airAnd the day that I would declare My new home as Rodney Square

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