What a pity,

What a pity,

Is the man

Who roams the city

He is alone, alive,

With no purpose inside

No reason to live,

Except life

What a pity,

What a pity,

Is the man

Who roams the city

Alone, alive

Failure, Success,

He has it right,

They call him wrong,

What a pity,

What a pity

It's too bad,

They say

Not to make a weekly pay

What a pity,

What a pity,

Or is he?

He lives as any other man,

Does as any other can,

Accomplishes as much,

And such,

So what is a pity?

What is a pity,

What is a pity,

Not the man who roams the city

Alone, Alive

Success, not Failure,

If he is right, then who is wrong?

The Doctors who search for a cure?

Or the rich who play ping-pong?

Surely the Doctors,

Who must play god,

Must be immortal

Must be right?

Surely the rich

Must have done something right

Or was all they did wrong?

***