Why should he lie there ’neath the sky?
Is there no home he can call his?
Creeps now the moonlight where he sleeps ...
Shakes then the outcast as he wakes,
Chill with the bitter winds that fill
All of the Park from wall to wall.
Slinks then away in search of drinks.
Soon he will be in a saloon.
Still as I lean upon the sill
And see the sky on every hand