I gather my things to talk a walk.
A walk down a street,
A street representing America.
A street representing freedom.
I see a child, dirty and bare,
Cry out for it’s mother.
On a street of America.
I see a working-class man
Struggle with three jobs.
On a street of America.
I see a mother of four
Build a shelter out of boxes.
On the street of America.
I see dirty faces glance up
As I walk past again and again.
On this street of America.
Freedom and justice for all,
What’s said to us from the start.
What freedom?
What justice?
I see no freedom in a child’s eyes
Who is too afraid to sleep at night.
Too afraid that mommy might not come back.
Too worried about what’s for the next meal.
I see no justice.
I see no justice in that child’s eyes,
That man’s tired glance,
Or that woman’s cardboard shelter.
On this street of America.