When I measure my worth I find my soul is weak and poor, I stumble through my house and leave my jacket by the door.

I sit and think and contemplate about my life gone wrong. I know not many that would even care to hear my songs.

I stand up slowly and I raise my arms up to my side, the shadows are my partners as I hum, and dance, and slide.

The lonely song I sing is not mine, not mine alone...

...I know that somewhere out there is a soul without a home.