an_aristocrat_amongst_beggars aM i DiStUrBeD? Brown polished suit arranged with Brown polished hair. Crisp dark skin And a dark polished stare. Black tattered boots with Black solid socks. Frayed cotton gloves And the leather that it mocks. Wake up every morning To see a new world begin outside. Feel the freshness of waking Hearing the birds sing with pride. No time for stretching Pull the world into full view Having to move on from his solace And those brief dreams that he knew. Stepping onto Saville Row Knowing that he belongs. To see the familiar faces that work for him And many more amongst. Stepping out into a street, The one he seems to work every day. He’s feels as if yesterday is being played again, Selling matches to earn a day’s pay. Because he feels that he is worth it His sense of self and much more Attending the daily ball that is his life And receiving rapturous applause. But nothing more is from the truth: The premium wine, The finest health. That he is the hierarchy of his world And he finds this in himself. 041124 ... mourninglight . 041126 what's it to you? who go blather from