Sometimes the poor and the weak can't speak for themselves so we have to.
I'm rags...
I'm bones...
the state of my dress shall remain
the same til I'm called home
I don't have to say a word
my brittle skin speaks itself
But the world won't listen
because the world is deaf
I would cry, but can't afford the tears
I've been saving this moisture for years
But I know I'm protected by God's love
It fits my body like a tailored glove
It protects me from the rain and cold
Covers me like a blanket til he call
home my soul
But the hateful eyes have gotten harder it seems
Paradise isn't here yet
but I can dream