Through my window, I can see
A world that isn't pleasing me,
For on the street, I see a box,
And inside, feet which wear no socks.
I needn't know, for I can guess
Just what is there atop those legs,
A little boy without a home.
A poor, small child, helpless and alone.
Through the window there, I saw
A man who turned to alcohol,
And still, each day, he fills his cup
'Coz that's all that keeps his spirits up.
People think it's his own fault,
"He would change, if a job he saught",
But they don't know why he's that way.
He's skilled enough, but still turned away.
Through the window, I can see
A world I viewed so differently.
I'm lucky enough to live inside,
And it's easy enough for me to hide.
What have they done to be that way?
Did they run out of luck, one day?
With a different start, would they be the same?
Or, would all my worry be in vain?
I've taken for granted the sea and the sky,
For I thought my window didn't lie.
But now, I see that I was wrong.
Outside my window, life goes on.