The rogue and vagabond

An ode to him, the rogue and vagabond
who mumbles and stumbles
being openly lewd and frankly obscene
just wandering these streets
crying over what might of been
Now, breaking and entering
for far more than just money
on the whim of a glance
eagerly taking
 far more than a dance
On the night of his capture
he brandished a bottle
like the glint in his eye
a flash came and went
Was he always just wanting to die?