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John Mark McMillan
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Between The Cracks
Hope grows between
the cracks in the asphalt
in the down downtown
ghetto streets that contour the government
housing intentions of my heart
And no one notices
the daisies don't care
about gang related violence
as long as they get enough air and water and sun
they're all just fine
Who would have thought it but life is finding a way
through this wasteland of cynics, concrete, and pain
There's a man down here somewhere between
those Saturday cartoons and the dirty magazines
He's raising the dead in graveyards
where we've laid down our dreams
and His name is hope
Hope stands high
on the fifteenth floor
of a Christmas tree perched
about the ledge
of a fortress of steel
that's trying too hard
to be somebody's home
as it seized
my attention from I-85
though the throes of the day were
still writhing inside
I lifted my head
as I drove home that night
and knew that everything was gonna be fine.
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Who would have thought it but life is finding a way
through this wasteland of cynics, concrete, and pain.
There's a man down here somewhere between
those Saturday cartoons and the dirty magazines
He's raising the dead in graveyards
where we've laid down our dreams
and His name is hope
His name is hope
everybody needs a little
His name is hope
everybody needs a little
His name is hope
everybody needs a little
His name is hope
everybody needs a little
His name is hope
everybody needs a little
His name is hope
everybody needs a little
Can hear him outside
He's been singing all night
He's saying, 'When are you gonna
come out from behind
these paper thin walls of your
cardboard box reality.
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