Where does my help come from?
Lonely, she sat on the park bench,
Surely this wasn’t what life meant
Tear filled eyes, the world swimming before her
People studiously trying to ignore her
Who is this woman in worn out clothes?
Best not look, so no one knows
Why has the world passed her by?
No helping hand, no heartfelt sigh
She is you, she is me
When we refuse to see
The world of help at our decree
A soul companion to set us free
So next time you pass her by
Stop and think
There goes my life, by and by
If I should fail to utter the cry