I hate what this world has done to you, Wanderers with no home. Deserted in your own community by those who should love and guide and support you
Children of our times A woman of 24 tender years A man of 36 years Ground into less in the space of distress
Children in the dust Then adults in this bitter world God save you. And God save us
Tears flow like rain on the redwoods The sadness of those who don’t even know you Does not know the depths of despair which will haunt those of us who do
My Christmas joy now bitter and bleak, when the middle of the month will bring you to mind all the days of my life
To think of a kind young woman from my past, who lost her children to despair Then died at the crazed hands of a drug addled man
Or a man who only wanted to be good – And was But lonely and in search of community He let the wrong person in
My sadness is like the cold of a winter night Wandering with unshorn feet God save you. And God save us
The little heart of a child should not know such darkness Nor should the person with no pillow or door come to this Perhaps you have transformed to what you were to be
But the tired heart of your genuine community carries the weight of your lost lives
We are not responsible for you, we who are sent to respond to you Or are we? Your parents could not have foreseen this Or could they? Your God could not save you Or did he?
Like the summer monsoon in the barren desert. Or the cold winter night living outside. Our tears, both silent and weak, are for you
Can tears and heavy thoughts be salvation? We hate what this world has done to you, Our friends from the street Who shared your hopes and dreams
You were the people of the tender and the bitter years The people in our hearts.
