I never see a face,
Only lines of men in time
Frozen in my mind.
I wonder why
year in and year out
they are left to die.
No one takes the time
to look into their eyes.
They only hurry hurry,
pass them by.
On their way home the homeless are left all alone
to set in their line of despair.
People just have learned
not to care
for the homeless
at McPherson Square.
Twelve o’clock is near.
They will all have to go.
But where?
The White House is two blocks to your right
on a cold, cold night
in a line of despair.
The Lord’s hand is there with a rope.
Hold on, my brother.
Hold on.