The man in the subway station
thinks differently than most
he thinks about having food to eat, a place to sleep
All because he chose happiness over greed
Music was his American dream
Singing in smoke-filled, lonely bars didn’t pay his rent
So here he is, wandering in a cold, lonely city
with his only love, which happens to be acoustic,
and is missing a string or two

Praying for change,
both monetary and moral
Hoping for a little bit of luck, just maybe
A dozen suited men pass him per minute
He offers them a smile,
they return disdain
He could have been one of them.

They think, they stare
they assume it was drugs
that put him on the street.
But instead, it was passion,
thirst for nothing less than to create
With a tinge of jealousy,
a dozen more suits walk past him
as he strums and sings contently,
slightly off key
and in that moment,
he is the richest man on Earth.