| He takes a look back as he closes the door
|
| Forty five bills piled up high on the floor
|
| He’s made his decision, he’s leaving today
|
| Spend the rest of his life living some other way
|
| And as the time passed by he hadn’t washed in years
|
| And when it rained it only washed away the tears
|
| He wants to move out of the street
|
| He wants to work not beg to eat
|
| He wants some privacy alone
|
| He wants a place to call his home
|
| He wants to move out of the street
|
| He wants to work not beg to eat
|
| He wants some privacy alone
|
| He wants a place to call his home
|
| He stands in the doorway as he’s begging for change
|
| People cross over 'cause they think that he’s strange
|
| Twenty four years of living out of a bin
|
| Surrounded by people but he’s lonely within
|
| And when a policeman comes to move him on his way
|
| Newspaper calling cries are all you hear him say
|
| He wants to move out of the street
|
| He wants to work not beg to eat
|
| He wants some privacy alone
|
| He wants a place to call his home
|
| He wants to move out of the street
|
| He wants to work not beg to eat
|
| He wants some privacy alone
|
| He wants a place to call his home
|
| It’s starting to rain and he’s feeling the cold
|
| His spirit is weary and his flesh is so old
|
| He’s looking for shelter right under the Pier
|
| A choice between dying and a night filled with fear
|
| And when he sleeps he doesn’t dream about his life
|
| He dreams of cardboard 'Queens' and one would be his wife
|
| He wants to move out of the street
|
| He wants to work not beg to eat
|
| He wants some privacy alone
|
| He wants a place to call his home
|
| He wants to move out of the street
|
| He wants to work not beg to eat
|
| He wants some privacy alone
|
| He wants a place to call his home |