Grand Central Station

Grand Central Station,
In the Big Apple,
The main station in the world.

Where bums sleep and the wayward toss and turn.
Some picking out of the garbage
Awkward bites of food left behind.

Tourists sit with bags of gold,
Or move to and fro across the station floor.
Sounds of trains, odd streaks of color.
Frightful to think that bums like me,
If not here, would have nowhere else to sleep

Please, Sir, may I have a dime,
Just one cup of coffee.

Penn Station reveals the same.
Yet some days I awake and, to my surprise,
In the garbage can is a half-eaten hotdog,
With mustard and relish, even a Coke.

Grand Central Station.
It doesn't matter where,
New York, New York