THE LAST TRAMP

We found him on the road, near the corner, by the bluff
An old man with greasy hair, and a hat, half off his head
Sagging pockets in an old tired coat and twine to tie his boots.
An old pack with a billy on the strap
And he stank from his fire and the rolled cigarettes

Passed this way before with lonely tread
Shunning cars and the mindless noise of a crazy world
Whilst the hawk drifted and circled overhead
Joined in the round with the helpless need
Of an endless search, like thistledowns in a wind of time

We found him on the road, near the corner, by the bluff
On life's journey he had no choice to start
Where dreams of the night were lost with the day
And the hope of sunrise became despair in the dusk
Where the peace for his soul kept stealing away

We found him on the road, near the corner, by the bluff
Face in the stones, hands straight by his side
Dead as he fell, arms senseless to break the fall
No breath to wisp the dust, eyes unseeing and lost
His last journey - on the road, near the corner, by the bluff.

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