When we wake in the dark hours

And prepare for the day’s labor,

Do you walk past the hundreds

Of sad soulless eyes,

And feel their stone cold hearts

And their lifeless paces around you?

When we retire from a long labor

And drag our exhausted bodies home,

Do you see the stream of moonlight

Illuminating our tiny cells,

Casting the shadows of the bars

Onto the cold cement floor of our cells?

When I look deep within

And think of the lighthouse shining far,

The drum roll of warm heartbeats

That beckon from a home far away,

Calling out to my nostalgia,

Drawing my heart ever closer,

And beckoning me to go home.