Tell me the poor are poor, and that's all right;
some of us have to face the floor and cry.
Some of us wander lonely in the night,
some of us lay our bones right down and die.
What's that to me? I'm sitting here inside,
with all the things that cost my precious time.
No one has said I cheated, bribed, or lied;
no one can say I once committed crime.
God is a guy who lives in church all week,
and says, because the pews are neat and clean,
nothing more need be done to save the meek;
everything left outside, remains unseen.

But if your love of Christ ignores the poor,
You'll find him with them, knocking on the door.