Sunday morning, sitting here in thought
Wondering, for me, what life has brought
And what else will my life continue to bring
Still sitting here, this Sunday morning
So many people, I have touched out there
So many people that will always care
But there are those, who do not know me
Those people who touch, and show me
Homeless people who live day to day
No home where they can just stay
Old vagrant with a cold step to sit
Where on Sunday morning does he fit
Woman, unhappy, suffering with her pain
Upset her man, so he went and hit her again
She would leave, but has no where to go
Trapped, for there is no one who wants to know
Black man, at him, they throw stones
Hit him, and break his bones
But he is a man, just like me
That is all that people should see
Sunday morning, and also out there today
Are those children who have run away
Not sure where to go, what they will find
People just turn away, with eyes so blind
Old people who are now living in fear
Living where the police do not go near
Gangs hanging around, on every corner
Treating the elderly without honour
Sunday morning, these words come in my head
Write them down so they are then read
All my words I write down to share
For those that see them, for those who can not, I will care
copyright Chris Smith 2007