I see the old men in park,

Lying in the cold and dark,

With a bottle by their side,

Who'd be mourning if they died.

They have no children, they have no wives,

Lonely men with wasted lives,

Their sole companion all the time,

Is just a cheap bottle of wine.

They're just derros.

How did they get into this state,

Just bad luck or was it fate,

Could we all end up this way,

Living on the street some day?

They're all unshaven, smelly and drunk,

They use a park bench as a bunk,

Wrapped in papers to keep them warm,

Waiting for the warmth of dawn.

They're just derros

What they need is love and care,

This is something we all can share,

Deep down we're all the same inside,

We all have dignity and pride.

An old man died just yesterday,

There'll be no flowers on his grave,

But worst of all, he died alone,

With just a park to call his home.

They're just derros,

But they’re still people.