A young boy sits by the side of the road
The things he's seen few have been told
He longs and longs for a helping hand
But all is lost or buried in the sand

The banker sits, counting his bills
A tired worker comes home from the mills
They long and long for a helping hand
But all is lost or buried in the sand

The farmer plows his fields in the day
The price of luxury to high to pay
He stares in sorrow at his starving brother
And asks why have you left thy mother

The lawyer leans on her golden cane
Happiness she searches for in vain
She longs and longs for a helping hand
Dependence has left her to weak to stand

by greg bonett