Home

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.

Its 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.