I don't know if I'll ever find a home
On this side of this dusty orb I roam;
I have walked and I've been stopped by barbs of wire
And I feel death when I grip them with my pliers,
But I have hope; I have felt it in my sleep;
I awake and it lingers like some dream...
I was born as a gardener of truth;
I'm ashamed—I've been banished from that youth,
But I walk by all these fences painted white;
I look inside and I see broken feet like mine...
Oh my God, I've begun to understand
Why it is you became a homeless man—
Because in the night I can feel my growing heart
For the folks that are wandering in the dark
I don't know if I'll ever find a home
On this side of this dusty orb I roam...

INVIA LE CORREZIONI