Failing At First, I Look Twice


Wish I didn't see them every day,
A young latino mother and her three kids,
And daddy has gone, gone away.
I always feel sorry, I always feel bad.

But whenever I see them, they don't look so sad.
Where do they find the strength?
How do they carry on, with their
Second hand clothing and holes in their shoes?
It must be the mother, oh mommy dear!
How does she keep pushing them with,
A smile from ear to ear? It must be the
Pride that swells on their insides,
It must be the love I see in their eyes.
Perhaps their life is better than mine?
They are holding hands across the street,
And my own is as empty as can be.
They sing songs about life and the sun.
And I write about death, and love unsung.

Wish I didn't see them every day.
A young latino mother and her three kids.
And daddy has gone, gone away.
I always feel sorry, I always feel bad.

They are laughing, yeah they have smiles,
I watch them eating for a little while.
Rarely do I see a tear, a sob or a frown.
This little family though they seem so far gone,
Are getting wrinkles from happiness and a,
Life worth living, they get up for each other,
They sleep for one another, and as I sit,
On a park bench holding my Neitzsche, I am
As invisible as a ghost, a spectating spectre,
A lonely inspector, I guess a tear rolled down my cheek.
The littlest one, Carlos, makes his way to me,
"Senor, I see you are sad, just remember you're alive."
He pulls on my pant leg with worry in his eyes.
He hands me a dandelion, and runs back to,
His mother, who nods in my direction, a smile,
To a stranger? It must be the mother, mommy dear.

Wish I could see them every day.
A young latino mother and her three kids.
And daddy has gone, gone away.
I always feel happy, I always feel glad.

It must be the mother,
It must be the love,
It must be the absence,
Of material things,
It must be the songs,
Those which they sing.
It must be the mother...
It must be the mother...
It must be the mother...