There's a mad man around the corner,
I see him sleeping on the sidewalk over yonder.
When he wakes he holds a conversation,
With himself or maybe with an alien encounter.
No one cares if he would sleep or wake,
No one bothers to take him home.
Everyone walks away from his wretched state,
I wonder if he is all alone.
Wasn't he someone's father?
Isn't he someone's brother?
I am only sure he's someone's son
But he sits there as though he's not one.
There's a Buddhist temple a few blocks away,
There are a few Churches in that vicinity.
There is a mosque somewhere nearby
And there are Indian temples that are extremely pretty.
The mad man in his frazzled rag,
Sits there whistling his dreamy tune.
What secrets does he hold in his bag?
Something God-like I presume.