Vagabond

His head rest not on a soft, comfy pillar,
But on a hard cold sidewalk.
His comfort and his peace,
Is lost along the streets.
Which brings him no relief.
He walks the street by day and by night.
Alone in his thoughts, alone alright.
How did he get here?
What made him this way?
Does anybody care?
What's left to say?
But when I look to the side,
All I see is,
But for the grace of God,
There goes I.