As I pass through America's busy streets,
I hear other things than my normal beat.
I hear the cries from mother's that are a far,
Missing their sons that they lost in the war.
I walk through a hospital, and what do I see?
Two little steady baby eyes looking at me.
A husband waits by the bedside of his wife,
Waiting for his love to wake from the night.
Going to the schools I see both black and white,
Everything we worked for actually turned out right.
On the school buses I see something different,
One race on one end and another by the entrance.
Driving through the traffic with people beside me,
I notice that the streets are not the safest places to be.
A man holding a sign "will work for food,"
Firemen collecting money in an old rubber boot.
A car in traffic has music to shake the ground,
A police officer scanning for what he might have found.
A siren wailing outside of my door,
The same music from that one car, still shaking my floor.
The songs of America can sometimes be beautiful,
But at the same time, it is what we Americans live for.
