I walk the city, the city clean
Where the sun is brighter on this side,
I keep my head straight no to be seen,
Though all my guilt can I cannot hide.

When the dove sings below me I can hear,
When the child suffers I do understand,
Where my conscience bundles up its fear
Before the child does raise her hand.

I carry no hope or miracle for the child
But I probably should spare the change,
To leave her in this city wild,
Would a dollar or pennies ease her pain?

With head straight forward I continue a march,
Pockets jingle past the innocent poor,
Walking past my burning heart,
I wonder if Heaven for her will open a door.