This piece I composed of my memories and feelings from the multiple times I lived on the streets AND when I was doing well, but saw others I had known, still on the streets.

Ironically, though this is one of my favorite songs, I've not been happy with my singing of it, and I can't seem to find where I've a usable recoding. I may make one shortly, even though I'm still unhappy with my poor vocal capabilities.

UPDATE: I went ahead and made a quick (and very rough) recording of the song and uploaded it to my server in mp3 format.
If you want to hear it while you read the lyrics, click this link to listen to it:
Streetwalkin' (rough recording)
;-P
WARNING: Be sure to don peril sensitive listening devices before hearing. I'm a pretty poor singer unfortunately, and I haven't practiced this piece in a long time. But I hope that I get the gist across at least. I think with a good musician this would be a nice song.
Click the "Read more" link to view the lyrics...

Streetwalkin' (c) 1992-2005 by Hawke

My eyes climb
Through the craggy rifts and valleys,
towers and highways
of her weather-beaten face.

My heart feels for
the deep scars and furrows
welts and bruises
of her hammered grace.

Oh, don't you see?
Oh, won't you feel?
They're everywhere,
but invisible,
to the cold eyes
staying within
themselves.
The selfish lives
staining their own souls.
Seeing only the narrow point
of their own goals.
Ignoring the other's please for kindness,
And trampling
yet another
under.

(Chorus)
Oh, can't you see?
Oh, won't you feel?
Please let me have the strength,
not to close my heart.
I feel, uncertain, like many
of what exactly is my part.
(/end chorus)

See them limp along
hand holding
grubby child's hand.
Calling out to anyone,
just to help them stand.

One cowers in a corner
shelter made of plastic.
But there still is power
though calloused under
many layers of bootprints
on face and back.
They still survive,
just a little longer.
Just a little longer.

(back to chorus)

A BMW drives on by
drivers nose pointing to the sky.
She doesn't let herself see
the little girl sitting on the curb,
who does cry.
Who does cry?
Missing her parents
who are no longer
around.
Gunned down.
In the alley way
just because they had a jacket
that some coked out wacko
wanted to sell.

(back to chorus)

Dark clouds gather
and empty their deluge.
Washing away
the filth and sundry sewage.
The little girl looks up,
tears mingling with rain.
She's closing her heart,
so she won't feel the pain.

Then someone blocks her view
of the overcast sky,
an older bearded man,
with a smile very wry.
She sees his tattered cuffs
and sees the compassion,
even through the gruff.
He extends his hand,
out to her.
And thus slows down
the scarring and closing
caused by another
dirty town.

(Finale)
Oh, don't you see?
Oh, won't you feel?
Please let me have the strength,
not to close my heart.
I feel, uncertain like many,
of what exactly is my part?
What can I do, to help stop the pain?
Where do I turn,
to stop the drain
of all the souls
down the gutter
with that gangrenous rain?
Please let me
have the strength
not to close my heart.
I feel uncertain, like many
of what exactly is my part.
My part, my part, my part.
What is my part?