Morning fell upon me
As I waited for the bus
So with my eyes I seen
Rising of the early sun
Orange ball of burning
Fire it had slowly rose
From a distant horizon

It was rising for a hobo
As he walked along the
Rail road track carrying
A pack on his shoulders
With a torn baseball cap
sitting side ways on top
Of his hairless bald head

And rising for a migrant
Picking fruit on a ladder
And the little children in
Their games an laughter
For the poor and middle
Class and the millionaires

And soldiers in the war
And ****** addicts that
Don't care and the wino
On his concrete bed but
it may not matter to him
he may be already dead

So who am I to judge to
wonder why we all have
faults and demons in dis-
guise not even sun does
criticize it's warms is for
everyone the sun is a red
ball in the sky