Many Mansions

Hope is a thing with feathers that perches on the soul

Said the homeless young man standing there strong against the cold

I reached into my pocket said a penny for your poetry

But when I handed him a dollar bill he was shaking his head at me

And he said these words to me

In my Fa-thers house are many mansions

Though tonight some make their beds along the streets

Where I´ve seen lives still by winters bitter chill

In my Fathers house there´s a mansion for me

Sleep is a silent pleasure behind doors with deadbolt locks

But it´s a concrete nightmare chance you take on the streets

In a cardboard box

But I know about the eye of the needle what will come to pass

When the least of us shall be first and the first now shall be last

Who´s homeless now I ask

In my Fa-thers house are many mansions

Though tonight some make their beds along the streets

Where I´ve seen lives still by winters bitter chill

In my Fathers house there´s a mansion for me