(or, how NYC forced me to become emotionally cold)
I see a man asking alms
for a song.
His raspy voice sings of loves
long since lost.
Once upon a time, he must have been somebody's little boy,
Now he's out here on his own
far from home.
I see a woman wrapped in rags
against the cold.
Struggling desperately to keep
her children warm.
Passers-by avert their eyes and shamefully look the other way,
Terrified of what they'll find behind
a child's gaze.
No one asks these children:
What do you want to be if you grow up?
Would you like to be a doctor or a lawyer?
Would you like to have a house someday
And a new car in your driveway;
Or would you like to live off the dole and drink whiskey?
Did Santa Clause bring you everything you asked?
Is there anything on your mind
Besides staying alive?
I see a man asking alms
for a song.
His raspy voice sings of loves
long since lost.
Once upon a time, he must have been somebody's little boy,
Now he's out here on his own
far from home.
I see a woman wrapped in rags
against the cold.
Struggling desperately to keep
her children warm.
Passers-by avert their eyes and shamefully look the other way,
Terrified of what they'll find behind
a child's gaze.
No one asks these children:
What do you want to be if you grow up?
Would you like to be a doctor or a lawyer?
Would you like to have a house someday
And a new car in your driveway;
Or would you like to live off the dole and drink whiskey?
Did Santa Clause bring you everything you asked?
Is there anything on your mind
Besides staying alive?
