| Show me something worse
|
| Than a child outside a church
|
| Begging with a cardboard box
|
| In a heartless town that hurts and mocks
|
| And on a chair anywhere
|
| I will sit down and cry
|
| And close my eyes
|
| Against the Christmas windows
|
| Here in Christmas town
|
| A young girl rests her tattered head
|
| And the festive lights shine down
|
| And if she were a kitten
|
| Someone would take her home
|
| But we’ve no pity for our own kind
|
| Our hearts are stone
|
| Our eyes are blind
|
| Show me something more
|
| Than the wolf at the door
|
| All the begging in the cold
|
| To keep the wolf from the fold
|
| Show me something more
|
| Than the an honest girl turned thief or wore
|
| Under African sun or Dublin rain
|
| Necessities remain the same
|
| On the roof the old wood shed
|
| The moon rested its pale head
|
| Cost a woman on a screen
|
| Who saw same things she’d never seen
|
| And on a chair in a hospital
|
| She sat down and cried
|
| And close her eyes
|
| Show me something more
|
| Than the wolf at the door
|
| All the begging in the cold
|
| To keep the wolf from the fold
|
| Show me something more
|
| Than the an honest girl turned thief or wore
|
| Under African sun or Dublin rain
|
| Necessities remain the same |