So you find yourself alone, solitary, cut off. So you find yourself wandering the roadways and sleeping in gutters. This is your loveliness, this is your sweetness, you are an anonymous wanderer, you are free. Your stomach wants food, your throat wants water, your back wants a coat. Your skin toughens to insults and weather bit by bit. This is your aimless sweetness, your aimless loveliness, you have no perfume, you have no books. You are the lonely one, the wanting one, the wandering one. This is your history. You are solitary.