In alleys dark, in streets forlorn,
A figure stumbles, a soul is torn.
A wino, worn, with eyes that stare,
Lives outside, without a care.
His name is Jack, or so he's told,
A name that's lost, like his youth, so cold.
He roams the streets, with a bottle in hand,
His constant companion, his dearest friend.
He's a king of nothing, a lord of grime,
A ruler of ruins, a monarch of crime.
He surveys his kingdom, with a gaze so bold,
A kingdom of trash, of broken dreams, so cold.
His days are filled, with the search for wine,
A quest that's endless, a journey so divine.
He scours the streets, with a practiced eye,
For the telltale signs, of a bottle, left to dry.
He's a connoisseur, of the finest rot,
A gourmet of garbage, a epicure of the plot.
He savors each sip, with a joy so true,
A pleasure so pure, in a world that's anew.
But as the sun sets, and the stars appear,
Jack's thoughts turn to shelter, to a place to hold dear.
He searches for a spot, to lay his weary head,
A place to rest, where he can be safe, and not be dead.
He finds a doorway, or a alleyway wall,
A place to huddle, and to hear the city's call.
He wraps his coat around him, and closes his eyes tight,
And prays for morning, and the warmth of the light.
But as he sleeps, his dreams are filled with pain,
Memories of a life, that he cannot regain.
He dreams of love, and of loss, and of all that's past,
And wakes up to the present, with a heart that's aghast.
He rises slowly, and stretches his tired frame,
And begins another day, in the endless game.
He searches for wine, and for a place to hide,
And lives another day, outside, with the city as his guide.
But despite the hardships, and the struggles he faces,
Jack finds a strange comfort, in his life of empty spaces.
He finds a freedom, in his lack of ties,
A liberty to roam, and to live, and to die.
And so he'll continue, to live outside,
A wino, a wanderer, a man without a guide.
He'll search for wine, and for a place to rest,
And live another day, in the city's endless test.
But as the years go by, and Jack's body begins to wear,
He'll think back on his life, and the choices he's made with care.
He'll wonder what might have been, if he'd taken a different road,
And if he'd found a way, to escape the wine's heavy load.
But for now, he'll just keep moving, one day at a time,
And find a way to survive, in the city's endless rhyme.
He'll be a wino, a wanderer, a man without a home,
But he'll be alive, and he'll be free, and that's all that he's known.
And so he'll raise his bottle, in a toast to his life,
A life that's been hard, but also strangely rife.
With wine, and with wonder, he'll face another day,
And live another night, in the city's endless way.
