Curbed in the underbelly of the town,
Lived a shoemaker.
That nobody knew where he came from,
A wise man – he was perceived of.
Early in the morning he sets up his shoe box,
And shouts through the day:
“Come, let me mend your shoe,
Don’t have a copper? Throw me a nickel or two;
Let me hide your smelly toe,
Let me relieve you from your pain,
Let me fix your bloody stain,
For I am the secret keeper –
My lips never parted without a reason.
Let me see what secrets you hide,
So, I can mend your sole, side to side.
I hold no prejudice, I hold no race;
I tend every foot, even with a scarred face.
Though I smell of mud and wax,
My skill will shine your charm.
I will polish you ready, for the missies;
I will scrub you steady, for the bosses.
Like it or not, you need such mend,
I am your shoemaker –
I am your secret friend”