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Around the benches and near the bins
Is most likely where you will find him
As if he were made of stone
He sits outside all alone
Why is he alone you ask?
Because, to him, life is concealed behind a mask

Embracing the bitterness of the cold
His reasons for this are forever untold
'It's warmer inside' some will say
'But outside is the only true way'
Always dwelling in the past
Facing the wind as if he were a mast

Do not ask why he is there,
Even to him the truth will scare
Behind closed doors and barred up gates
He ponders about his own fate
So again, do not ask why he is there
Even to him' the truth will scare