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.