Will It Ever Be Alright

We get 120,000 phone calls a month, Tired, crying, lost, scared kids With nowhere to turn And no one to trust, They seek the comfort of the unknown Voice, any voice to tell them They’ll be all right We get 60,000 walk-ins a month, Limping, whimpering, tattered kids With nowhere to sleep And no warmth to be found. They seek the quiet of a hall full of Others like themselves, a room of Warm bodies, any bodies to Make them feel all right. We get 30,000 letters a month, Tear-jerking, mind-numbing stories of kids With nowhere to go And nothing left of their own. They need their voice to be Heard by the workers, any workers Who will try to make Everything all right We get 40 notices a month, Paper clippings or church notices of kids With nowhere to turn And no one to trust They need no more, they have Given up or been taken out By crisis, any crisis. Now They lie silent and there is nothing Left to make them all right.