The cold

I saw a bag of bones moving,
Waving it's arm across the concrete floor, looking for some sheckles,
Then it went back into its sleeping bag,
I had my own, and I wasn't quite a bag of bones yet,
But the cold hard concrete sure was making itself known,
Both the coldness and the hardness made themselves very well known to my bones,
I didn't care about tomorrow. Sometimes Jack would pass by (the guy that sold the shoes down at the market) and make me laugh, or kill a few seconds with a moan,
But the cold was always there. It never said goodbye.