| He shares a room outside with a dozen other guys
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| And the only roof he knows is that sometimes starry sky
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| A tattered sleeping bag on a concrete slab is his bed
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| And it’s too cold to talk tonight
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| So I just sit with him instead and think
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| How did I find myself in a better place
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| I can’t look down on the frown on the other guy’s face
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| ‘Cause when I stoop down low, look him square in the eye
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| I get a funny feeling, I just might be dealing
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| With the face of Christ
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| After sixteen years in a cold, gray prison yard
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| Somehow his heart is soft, but keeping simple faith is hard
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| He lays his Bible open on the table next to me
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| And as I hear his humble prayer
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| I feel his longing to be free someday
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| How did I find myself in a better place
|
| I can’t look down on the frown on the other guy’s face
|
| ‘Cause when I stoop down low, look him square in the eye
|
| I get a funny feeling, I just might be dealing
|
| With the face of Christ
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| See you had no choice which day you would be born
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| Or the color of your skin, or what planet you’d be on
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| Would your mind be strong, would your eyes be blue or brown
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| Whether daddy would be rich, or if momma stuck around at all
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| So if you find yourself in a better place
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| You can’t look down on the frown on the other guy’s face
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| You gotta stoop down low, look him square in the eye
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| And get a funny feeling, ‘cause you might be dealing …
|
| How did I find myself in a better place
|
| I can’t look down on the frown on the other guy’s face
|
| ‘Cause when I stoop down low, look him square in the eye
|
| I get a funny feeling, I just might be dealing
|
| With the face of Christ |