There is no time to discuss or debate

What is right, what is wrong for our people

Time has run out for all those who wait

With bent limbs and minds that are feeble



And the rain falls and blows through their window

And the snow falls and blows through their door

And the seasons revolve 'mid their sounds of starvation

When the tides rise, they cover the floor



And they come from the north

And they come from the south

And they come from the hills and they valleys

And they're migrants and farmers

And miners and humans

Our census neglected to tally



And the rain falls and blows through their window

And the snow falls and blows through their door

And the seasons revolve 'mid their sounds of starvation

When the tides rise, they cover the floor



And they're African, Mexican, Caucasian, Indian

Hungry and hopeless Americans

The orphans of wealth and of adequate health

Disowned by this nation they live in



And with weather-worn hands

On bread lines they stand

Yet but one more degradation

Yes, and they're treated like tramps

While we sell them food stamps

This thriving and prosperous nation



And the rain falls and blows through their window

And the snow falls and blows through their door

And the seasons revolve 'mid their sounds of starvation

When the tides rise, they cover the floor



And with roaches and rickets and rats in the thickets

Infested, diseased, and decaying

With rags and no shoes and skin sores that ooze

By the poisonous pools they are playing



In shacks of two rooms that are rotting wood tombs

With corpses breathing inside them

Yes, and we pity their plight as they call in the night

And we do all that we can do to