'
Toby was a homeless drunk, broken, cloths torn, down on his luck
Wondering the slums looking for liquor to line his stomach
The mayor of hobo town but to most he remained an enigma
Traipsing the streets, dragging his pride through the decomposed mixture
He was a prominent figure, the symbol of poverty in 1871
In the underbelly of a city of wealth, in which plenty had none
Until the 8th of October, for a change Toby was sober
contemplating the upcoming months, now the summer was over
His younger days in the distant past, each winter a struggling fight
Little be-known this night, would present a greater trouble in sight
Around 9 pm people witnessed the birth of a monster, signaled by smoke
Engulfing the scenery, masking the demon feasting on homes
Maturing to adulthood in a matter of minutes, wild & savage
With a dozen firemen flogging a dead horse with equipment that's damaged
An unstoppable challenge, looters appear through the chaos & panic
Crisscrossing the streets looking like madmen draped in torn fabric
Famished, the hunger of the fire gorges the slums like a kindling pie
& for desert the flames reach high, licking the sky
The city of Chicago was parched as this calamity feasted & wrecked
Until the morning of the 10th. the sky's had seen enough, opened up & wept
300 souls the total cost as the tears purged the flames
Chicago regressed back to a child, one third lying in remains
In the end a cow got the blame, but in secret you and me know better
For stood within the thousands of homeless people, was Toby, united together
|