On the African plains A young mother weeps for her hungry she prays he’ll survive With tear-filled eyes, she looks up to heaven and calls your name She pours out her pain You know her name, and you hear her cries Friend of the poor, help me through the night Help me in the fight, come to my rescue Friend of the poor, take these skin and bones Make this heart a home, come to my rescue On the streets of L.A. A old man lies in his cardboard home He feels so alone With tear-stained eyes He looks up to heaven And prays a prayer: “Is there anyone there?\" You know his name and you hear his cries, Its getting dark, it’s getting late It’s cold outside the rich mans gate And I’m wondering, do you have any friends around here?