They've lived their lives below the surface, in the shadows.
Ought we not to care, to let their strife go on?
They've lived their lives in the streets, in the gutter.
Alone with their misery, how can we judge them?
Is our guilt appropriate? What do their blank stares confirm?
They've crawled under bridges and slept in park benches.
Where can they go to find solace?
Why are they still deprived of a home?
Is it our responsibility?
Or should everyone be forced to fend for themselves?
Who is there to help them when times are rough?
They go from place to place, they have no home to return to.
What chance have they got, what chance does society provide?
In the depths their struggle is done, and they struggle along.
Are they meant to there remain?