Night rain
   I walk the beat up streets
Autumn mud
   Has marred my walking trance
I see each one
   They all seem glad
And no one here
   Seems old or gray
 
Back to work
   I find my tools dropped
I spin and polish
   Then take a rooftop glance
What kind of friend
   Would lead me out this way?
Well, he’s not here
   And wouldn’t show me anyway