The Little Tin Cup

With my little tin cup clutched in hand
as I gaze up towards the sky
and there alone amongst the multitudes I stand
desperately hoping no one sees me cry.

One of the hardest thing to do
is to swallow ones own pride
for each day you’re born anew
hating your face to have to hide

When does it come, that moment of thinking clear
that you know it’s just around the bend
where you’ll fall prey to hopelessness and fear
when happiness and sanity and all else comes to an end?

The day that you stand no longer tall
for having to hold that tin cup in hand
as it’s seen by all how far a man can fall
In this once a thriving land

Duty done and service served
what remains is yet not dead
I ask for my “deserved”
but the “Man” just shook his head

So with my little tin cup clutched in hand
I’ll see what shall transpire
in this once, a thriving land
who’s future seems too dire