My dream job is not  too popular, but one that completes me.

To feed the poor, clothe the naked, share some water if need be.

 

It calls me when I see the homeless.

 

It calls me when I feel hungry.

It whispers when I don't have money.

It shouts when I feel lonely.

 

It's a cold world outside these four walls. 

 

Four walls never seemed so friendly.

Though my neighbors bawl with envy

at the great possessions that I carry.

The big four walls keep me merry.

The snow, the rain, and the sun touch our skin.

but the dry hearts of the people cut deeper within.

 

 

With no house, no job, no food, and no hope.

They've no friends to talk with, to help them cope.

The years go by, and so the fancy cars with the leather so fine.

An old man thinks to himself, what did I do to deserve this, a crime?

People look at me with pity. I sleep with the bugs, and the drugs do the really?

Do they really think that I do them?

I would tell them my story, if only I knew Them.

 

This dream job is the JOB of all jobs.

To change the hearts of Them.

Them that live in four walls.

Them that look at them, without thinking of them...