When we wake in the dark hours
And prepare for the day's labor,
Do you walk past the hundreds
Of sad soulless eyes,
And feel their stone cold hearts
And their lifeless paces around you?
When we retire from a long labor
And drag our exhausted bodies home,
Do you see the stream of moonlight
Illuminating our tiny cells,
Casting the shadows of the bars
Onto the cold cement floor of our cells?
When I look deep within
And think of the lighthouse shining far,
The drum roll of warm heartbeats
That beckon from a home far away,
Calling out to my nostalgia,
Drawing my heart ever closer,
And beckoning me to go home.