I run to the window to watch him come
As he walks past me I hear him hum
Under his white beard the same old song
Holding a string tied to his dog
What's the fun in watching him everyday
Is something I will never be able to say
But I do know for sure, I wait for him
At 6'clock when the day starts to dim
Dried lips and head full of ash grey hair
Clothes so little that it is as good as bare.
Dandling a dirty old bag as he walks away
Smiling at me as his hair locks sway
I turn around in my room holding onto his smile
I will see him again but it's going to be awhile
Running back to my Mom's call that I have to obey
Resting assured he will come tomorrow and not betray
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