The Blind Man

A blind man walks in the street
A stick in his hand from hand to heel
Holds out his hand
Waving it for people to understand
That he needs their sympathy
Not money
Their heart
And not a few Dollars

A blind man walks in the street
Late at night
Tries to find a place
To rest his mind

He has nowhere to go
No chest to be protected by
No love to be given
No smile, even if he could see with his own two eyes

This blind man
Is now dead
But his soul still roams the streets
You can still hear him ask
'Wonderous world, who will love, protect, and not run from the face at hand?'
Do you hear him...?