Jesus said bring me the destitute, the hungry and the sick
It don't matter what you brand me, why don't you take your pick
It ain't the lack of money that makes a fella poor
It's the footsteps of the one you love walkin' out the door
Walkin' out the door

Countless smoky Greyhounds won't cease to stop my rest
Cross-country railway cars where they only serve the best
An angle of complacency stretched me cross the rack
The smiling ghost of decency drove me off the track
Drove me off the track

Pots and pans rattle and the door slams
Can't seem to find the salt
Even the scraps are tasting flat
It's just one more day the dollar ain't what is used to be
I don't mind being blind so long as there's someone out there can see

One by one the TVs are shutting down
The buildings go to sleep
The all-night D.J.'s serenade is the only company I keep
There's little rhyme or reason to these words that float in s___e
They recall some times and places I can no longer clearly place
No longer clearly place

It ain't the lack of money that makes a fella poor
It's the footsteps of the one you love walkin' out the door
Walkin' out the door

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