Charlie Freak had but one thing to call his own:
Three weight ounce pure golden ring, no precious stone.
And if nobody takes him in he'll soon be dead. Five nights without a bite, no place to lay his head.
On the street he spied my face, I heard him hail,
In our plot of frozen space he told his tale.
New found cash soon begs to smash a state of mind,
And me so wise, I bought his prize for chicken feed.
Poor man, he showed his hand, so righteous was his need. Close inspection fast revealed his favourite kind.
And while he sighed his body died in fifteen ways.
When I heard I grabbed a cab to where he lay,
Poor kid, he overdid, embraced the spreading haze. 'Round his arm the plastic tag read D.O.A. Yes, Jack, I gave it back, the ring I could not own.
Now come, my friend, I'll take your hand and lead you home.
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