Bag Of Bones

 

Please let me introduce myself -

my name is Billy Jones.

You might know me better

as that useless bag of bones

that gets under your feet

when you’re staring at your phones,

planning all your creature comforts

on extortionate pay day loans.

Well I was once like you my friend,

I haven’t always been alone

huddled up in corners

where the autumn leaves have blown,

I once dreamed the dreams you dream,

I once owned the things you own,

but now I’m cold and hungry

where the desperate seeds are sown.

I was married very young

to a lovely girl named Joan

and we lived a life of luxury -

if only we had known

that just around the corner

I would soon be on my own -

when the bailiffs came to kick us out

of the matrimonial home.

Well, she fell back on her parents

but I couldn’t stand their tone,

so I left them all one Tuesday, long ago,

and that’s why I lay here prone,

because my life was left in pieces

and I know there’s no way back home.

I’m one bitter night from dying here

where all my hopes were thrown.

You pass me with your coffee cups

and grimace when I groan,

you cannot stand to fight the war

that rages in this homeless zone.

I’ve lived for months in this sleeping bag

I feel like I’ve been sewn

into a grave – without a name.

So exits Billy Jones…