Cold city streets, a piece of hell
With plenty of dealers trying to sell
Their poison to anyone
Your father, mother, daughter, or son
No one left out, not even the young
Who have only begun to learn
Their songs must be sung.
Knowing minds and roving eyes
Under a clouded sky
Search for some women
Who are traded and given
Money for passion and embrace
As police cars race by in the street
Or they walk the beat on tired feet.
Missions that feed the weary
Abound with chorus of singing
You can almost hear
Church bells ringing
Calling "come home", "come home"
To those in need of relief,
Those who have been
Alienated by society beyond belief.
Some find solace in drink
Others write their troubles in ink
Trying to make things rhyme.
Bars are always open on time
Filling glasses with beer and wine
Whiskey for those who need
Something with a faster speed
Restaurants with Chinese fare
Open at street level or up the stairs.
An underground for the curious
Their reason for being the slavery
Traffic most furiously decried.
Honest merchants in shops
Trying to make a dollar or two
Wear out the leather
On their shoes, standing for hours
In their bowery of West Coast
Paying taxes and dues
To City Hall and the IRS
Fighting the change, sure to come
Urban renewal and a growing city
Making the streets look pretty
Clean and welcoming to shoppers,
With a new trolley for short hoppers.
Out with the old, in with the new
Maybe there will be left a few
Of the residences there
The parks and the shops
With room for new buildings
Sky high salt boxes, and
Stores where the folk will linger
Awhile, filling their bags
Full of things that are in style.
There is much for you to give... as representative...
in terms of those... in America... as a whole...
But what is this whole... and who are they?
Does this whole... include the wild...
and all that live?
Can we bear... our children's children's stories told?
May we look ... beyond the nation's nights of cold...
to reveal the light of day?
Or will you turn... that brightness down?
I don't mean... our super grids... of power...
nor superficial standards... that our system sets...
I mean... do you allow... shining jewels on every crown?
Are rows of homeless... wretched weeds...
or gorgeous living flowers?
Does each present... a healing seed...
or disease the garden gets?
This is brilliance... for us to use...
Since it can't be silenced... nor caged... in cells...
Why view it in... some blindness...
a darkness... in our eyes?
It presents... a gift... we cannot lose...
a field... that can't be fenced...
a sale... that always sells...
Spirit is... every birthright... a source... that never dies...
It is this call... we encourage... or quell...
and it survives... no matter what we do...
ever rising... to meet our needs...
It's surprising... to see it... solve each spell...
and it thrives... despite...
some have no clue...
It deems... We are worthy...
of all... our deeds...
no matter... how insignificant... they seem...
This is for all of us... We are worthy...
