In my mind I see them, children of the land,
Black as darkest Africa, standing with an outstretched hand.
I see their stomach’s bloated, signs of despair,
Yet on I go with my life and couldn’t even care.

I smell the stench of flesh as vultures have their meal,
Yet my heart’s turned hard… too hard to feel.
…Hey I’m on top of the world, living out in Hollywood,
Everything’s fine and dandy… “It’s all good”.

Yet you and me we know, that somewhere they’re still out there,
But it’s far away in Africa, why should we even care?
I see their plight on TV and hear it on the news,
But that’s someone else’s problem, we all have our own views.

After all, it’s money that they’re really asking for,
And when it comes to that, well I just shut the door.
Cause even if I help them, they’ll only sink down deeper,
And after all… “Who made me my brother’s keeper?”.

Now in my mind they haunt me, these children of the land,
For I know I saw them standing with an outstretched hand.
And now when I see them lying… dying… thin, torn and bare,
I look down at that outstretched hand and can’t help but stare.

And although I pinch myself and vigorously blink my eyes,
I must painfully accept what now my heart denies.
For the hand that lies before me was painfully pierced through,
With a cruel rusty nail that was meant for me and you.

Now when in darkest Africa, walking down the street,
And just by chance, a child of the land, I’d happen to meet.
No longer will I cause a fuss and say,
“You’re bothering me”, “I have no time, just go away!”.

Instead I’ll take that hand, grip it real tight,
Open my heart and spread a little light.
For now I know the truth and although I shrink in shame,
The fact is: a heart without charity cannot call on His Name!

Alone stand I this solemn night, alone.
Alone I am the judge and witness, alone,
And I ask myself a question,
One I must answer to myself and by myself, alone,
“Am I ever alone?”

Alone; no one near… Alone?
Alone; not a friend to hear… Alone?
Alone; not a God to fear… Alone?
I ask myself, “Alone?”

Then think I; “there’s an all-seeing Eye…!”
And warmth returns, the Comforter is near.
To remembrance comes; “I will never leave you”… never.

Therefore stand I this solemn night alone,
Yea, alone with them that will stand alone,
Declaring that I am never alone!

Pitter-patter; tears on the roof,
The world sleeps knowing not the grief,
And in dawning hours the gage is proof
Of a tear shed for life… oh so brief!

The face of the sky is darkly troubled,
Unnoticed by the sleeping world below
Unconcerned nor woken by the tear drops doubled
Weeping o’er what they all ought to know.

The gushing sounds of torrents, of sorrow
For a world who really ought to care,
The rising waters of destruction for the morrow
Only stirs one here and there.

The gurgling sounds of a drowning people
Wake a dying world with a start,
Too late they’ve learnt that Life’s not below a steeple,
But within a sincere and humble heart!

My sports car’s bumper is redder than your pale lips,
And it’s Parrelies blacker than your silver flecked hair.
The TSW mags are genuine chrome, not only the lightly rooted tips,
And the smooth, glossy bonnet not wrinkled like your dial from care.

The seats are a plush tan, not a stark, unsightly white like you,
And the V12’s rev is an unmistakeable sound.
The speedometer reads 360, if ever beaten, only by a few,
And when I’m done it resides in splender, and not six foot underground.

The shatterproof windshield is clearer than your misty grey eyes,
And its model number reads 2004, not a dozen and three score more.
The Ferrari I own is the best that money buys,
And it makes me proud to say, “It’s mine!”, not a nuisance for 40years I’ve bore.

Now when Top Car says Ferrari 2005 I’ll need another,
But my love for you is timeless and can be filled by none other!

Oh that the deepest Love
Would come to a heart
Like a hand, tight in a glove
Holding a pen, and there make a start.

Oh that ink were deeds
Sweet memories and smiles,
For just the owners heart who reads
Would I on hearts paper write for miles and miles.

Oh that moments were lasting
And time slow in its swift passing
…Just that all were made in love’s sweet casting.

Time is of present
And oft, a pen love’s tool.
So may the present moments be pleasant,
For we know not the future and of it how cruel.

Oh that loves pen had permanent ink
That of moments, sweet memories and smiles
In ones heart could forever be writ!

So many times we’ve decided, “Its time we split up!”,
But then we find we just can’t give up.
It’s not for each other; it’s for the children we care,
On them it’s unfair,
They stand in the corner helpless and bare.

There’s so much to remember my daughter, my son,
But all I can think of is myself on the run,
And who am I trying to get away from? You or the grave?
When I look deep inside it’s myself I’m trying to save!
Selfish! Cruel!
Like a stoney hearted fool!

I can feel it’s icy coldness against my temple as I level the gun,
And a voice deep inside saying, “No! Think of your son!”
As my finger tightens on the trigger,
I can see the out line of his little figure,
With his hands clasped together,
As he says goodbye…forever!