There's a world outside your own.
There's people somewhere,
wishing they'd be you,
because they hate who they are,
wish they hadn't been born.
Maybe they're starving, lying on the streets
dying, you never know.
They hope they could be you,
sitting under a home, reading this bad rhyme.
Sometimes they think,
"what if I were her, pointing to some celebrity?
What if I lived there would I not be looking in the trash cans for meals?
Would I be able to have a bed, or maybe just the warmth?"
We don't know, and most of us don't see,
how good we have it, to be looking at this stupid computer screen.
I wish I knew, how they feel every morning,
I could know what it's like to be almost dead.
Going through another dreadful day, maybe it's their last.
We complain about a guy, or about what she said,
when we can't see, we have it just fine.
We're not the ones by the gutter,
or the ones with no one to turn to,
they're completely alone.
We have someone near, someone to turn to,
don't pity yourself, just think about it.
How many kids are lost, how many kids are found, barley alive, every year.
We're not starving, we're the ones living life,
pitying ourselves, crying for a boy,
or maybe just a broken toy.
Live life to the fullest, you never know,
you can be next, you can lose it all.
So don't complain to me, don't tell me you're miserable.
Don't get me wrong, I'll listen to you go on,
but go to Africa, you'd change your mind.
Go see the news, you'd see what I mean,
have someone murder your parents,
you'd know what it's like, to be like them,
to be going through life, feeling like you're dead.
