Beggar's Song - Dean Stevens

    Here's to all the beggars poor, whose living room is the streets.
    The drunken bums and helpless boors, their callous-cracked bare feet
    Have roamed the open marketplace an eternity of years
    Searching for that friendly face, but only getting jeers from the passerby
    Sneers from the classes high above them

    But still those feet hold up that frame although they barely can
    To a passing stranger with no name he stretches open hand.
    His longing eyes meet mine, he says, "Hey, mister, can you spare
    A loaf of bread, a pair of shoes, a measly coin of care, I'll owe ya,
    Share with this wretched one below ya."

    Are they fools or are they men?
    Is it cruel to pretend that they're not there?
    Can one man mend a tear that will never close?
    Would you call him your friend
    If you were told you're the same in the end?
    And will your pity bend to his pleading eyes?

    Here's to starving millions, meanest hand of fate has hurled
    To the cardboard towns, under bridges down in most destitute of worlds
    Picking for their measly share in merchant's garbage cans
    Sticking you with stabbing stare, still reaching out that hand
    Who'll save them?
    Will misery enslave them 'till their dying day?

    [Repeat Chorus]

    But I am genteel, I must keep my distance
    Cannot feel, I must show resistance
    He tugs at my coat, I must beware
    Treat him like the stinking garbage in the gutter there.

    Here's to those who never had a semblance of a chance
    Victims of unfathomably ugly circumstance
    And will you care to ask yourself, why does it have to be?
    And is there something I might do to make the world to see
    Please tell me so!
    'Cause this is just a song I know.

    [Repeat Chorus]

    © 1983 by Dean Stevens


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