The doors are shuttin', br No windows creakin', br Only weak footprints br Against the cold winds. br br No food nor shelter, br Neither clothes to spare; br The leaves run helter-skelter br Seeing his brass and muddy wear. br br They fail to understand his pain br Fearing curses may befall; br But, on the same level they too remain, br For, there's no difference at all. br br Alone he walks and crawls, the poor soul, br Hoping they would change at all; br No one to fill his brass bowl br No one to answer his call. br br Only frozen hands remain, br Of that body, where the blood ran cold; br But he can no longer feel the pain br For his heart took hold. br br No one bothers, no one cares, br To take the poor creature from the snow; br His body remains cold and bare br But for his heart—it's made of gold.