What this may warrant is nothing to the next man on the street. Souls are beat, & the meat of their feet helps them leap, & climb steep, but they don't know. The man on the train, tucked his laces in & smiled, but he wasn't fooling. His eyes were sad & lonely, not to mention his ragged tweed. His energy was lost & wandering the outskirts of nowhere places. In his youth he had broken chains & swallowed rains, stomped through mud & given up. But it's different now, because he's had enough.