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He shares a room outside with a dozen other guys |
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And the only roof he knows is that |
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sometimes starry sky |
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A tattered sleeping bag on a concrete slab is his bed |
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And it's too cold to talk tonight |
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So I just sit with him instead and think |
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How did I find myself in a better place |
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I can't look down on the frown on the other guy's face |
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'Cause when I stoop down low, look him square in the eye |
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I get a funny feeling, I just might be dealing |
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with the face of Christ |
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After sixteen years in a cold, gray prison yard |
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Somehow his heart is soft, but keeping simple |
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faith is hard |
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He lays his Bible open on the table next to me |
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And as I heart his humble prayer I feel his longing to be free someday |
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repeat chorus |
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See you had no choice which day you would be born |
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Or the color of your skin, |
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or what planet you'd be on |
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Would your mind be strong, would your eyes be blue or brown |
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Whether daddy would be rich, or if momma stuck around at all |
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So if you find yourself in a better place |
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You can't look down on the frown on the other guy's face |
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You gotta stoop down low, look him square in the eye |
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And get a funny feeling, 'cause you might be dealing... |
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repeat chorus |