So what becomes of those small unwanted souls
Who spend their lives breaking their backs?
Those who dig the gold for the rich and powerful
Who place their feet upon their necks?
Where can the junkies go when high has laid them low?
Are they truly on their own?
It seems we've lost our way
Like sheep we have gone astray
Can anybody lead us home?
The friend of the suffering?
Of those who were never born?
The King with the crown of thorns
And I'll consecrate a verse
To the kingdom in reverse
And the last will be the first
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