Sometimes the table is completely bare.
Sitting on the bench all day,
Watching the world go its way,
People pass me by, and stare,
For me, they have no time to spare.
'Twas these same people for whom I fought,
'Twas their same freedom that I sought,
Now what do I get, in return?
A quick glance, a hasty turn and gone!
Now I sit beside the fire,
Wait 'til night, when I retire,
I sleep so sound until morn!
My bed-clothes they are old and worn.
My meal it is a poor affair,
Sometimes the table is completely bare.
But - does anyone care?