Sometimes I meet the cold part of my pillow

In the morning, when the sun is streaming,

with relish, happiness brimming, I am awake

And then, once i've left the cave of blankets

I enter the war-zone; It is sheer madness

It is no dystopian world with burning trash and hungry children

No abandoned, dilapidated houses here

You will not find yourself stepping over a casualty in the street

Nor a long forgotten soul, left unhinged

Instead, you will find a bustling world full of overflowing trash

hauled off, out of sight, to reveal polished sidewalks

and hungry children put in homes and lost in an unrelenting system

And you will see houses that hold the unaware-

they don't have time to care

And a long forgotten soul with a soggy papercup

asking for just a little change. 

As much as i resist hiding back under the cave, 

my cheek cold once again against my pillow

I must delve into the war and make some time:

Time to feed the hungry child, time to think of someone else first, 

time to put a nickel in a soggy papercup

Time to write a letter, time to give someone a smile

If i could change one thing: give me more time to change the world