Behind The Patch

Why does pain Strike such as he?
Orphaned at the age of three.
His Clothes are torn,
His shoes are worn,
He wonders why he was ever born.
On the corner he stands and begs,
And stands and begs,
And stands and begs,
In the alley he scrounges for food,
Anything to settle his mood.
Until the day he got in a fight,
Why can't he ever make things right?
Glass in his eye,
Blood on his head,
Everything stained with a dark , murky , red.
This was how life would be,
Before he became a Newsie.