Under 21

A radio is all he's got.
That makes him a wanderer,
Maybe a seeker,
Or maybe not.

He came inside, away from the street.
I watched his eyes, scanning his feet.
I don't know why he said to me
"I ain't so bad, you see, but I'm

Under 21.
I haven't got a home,
And I hope, I sure do
The street don't come to own me."

Under 21,
In this life alone,
And I hope, I sure do
The street don't come to own me."

Somehow his words spoke to me
I wanted to stay,
But my confusion
Pulled me away.

I wonder has someone taken him in
Or has the street gotten to him?
I still feel those words he said to me,
"I ain't so bad, you see, but I'm

Under 21
I haven't got a home,
And I hope, I sure do
The street don't come to own me.”

He's mine – he's yours – he’s everybody's son
He's tough – he's torn - he roams the streets alone.
And he's young, so young.

Under 21
In this life alone,
And I hope, I sure do
The street don't come to own him.

©  2004  Ingrid Heldt – Becky Raveson