I was walking in New York City and I brushed up against the man in front of

me. I felt a cardboard placard on his back. And when we passed a streetlight,

I could read it, it said "Please don't pass me by - I am blind, but you can

see - I've been blinded totally - Please don't pass me by." I was walking

along 7th Avenue, when I came to 14th Street I saw on the corner curious

mutilations of the human form; it was a school for handicapped people. And

there were cripples, and people in wheelchairs and crutches and it was snowing,

and I got this sense that the whole city was singing this:

Oh please don't pass me by,

oh please don't pass me by,

for I am blind, but you can see,

yes, I've been blinded totally,

oh please don't pass me by.



And you know as I was walking I thought it was them who were singing it, I

thought it was they who were singing it, I thought it was the other who was

singing it, I thought it was someone else. But as I moved along I knew it was

me, and that I was singing it to myself. It went:



Please don't pass me by,

oh please don't pass me by,

for I am blind, but you can see,

well, I've been blinded totally,

oh please don't pass me by.



Oh please don't pass me by.



Now I know that you're sitting there deep in your velvet seats and you're

thinking "Uh, he's up there saying something that he thinks about, but I'll

never have to sing that song." But I promise you friends, that you're going

to be singing this song: it may not be tonight, it may not be tomorrow, but

one day you'll be on your knees and I want you to know the words when the

time comes. Because you're going to have to sing it to yourself, or to