The Disabled Vet

I saw an old man on the street today,
he sold pencils he had in a cup.
One leg missing, no shoe on the other.
I stopped and asked him, what's up?

Why are you sitting here on the street,
Selling pencils from that cup?
Do you feel sorry for losing a leg,
how is this where you end up?

He spoke very slowly
and made me cry,
when he told me his story,
how he wanted to die.

I use to be hansome, well like he said,
before my country called.
But when I came back, they all look at me,
how my body they said had been mauled.

I did what was asked, I went off to war.
I was one of many heard the call.
Some came back with wounds that show,
some never came back at all.

I can't get a job, they think I can't work,
with no leg what can I do?
I can't seem to show them I can still be a man.
I'm one of the unlucky few.

I didn't forget my duty to go,
when uncle Sam sent out the word.
But I am forgotten and the help I might need.
My voice seems not to be heard.

But as lonely and sad as my life is today,
I'd go again if they call.
For I love my country with all of it's faults,
to be important again I would crawl.

Don't judge me for sitting here on the street,
remember I once had a home.
Now I am a disabled vet.
It is simply how I am known.