He has passion for ecology, compassion for minorities.
He carries printed placards to put an end to war.
He's a hero, he's a rebel, with a half a hundred causes.
He peddles his petitions door to door.
He's at home among the homeless, singing, set my people free.
He will march with total strangers,
but he will not walk with me.
He writes letters to his congressmen on Indian indignities.
Black men are his brothers, he bears collective guilt.
He's a prophet, he's a pacifist, but though peace is his objective,
he has no fear to see his own blood spilled.
His roots are with the rootless, that's where he needs to be.
He will die with total strangers,
but he will not live with me.
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He feeds and shelters animals, unselfish are his deeds.
He gives away his worldly goods, and has no notion of my needs.
Lover, look away a moment, though the ghetto cries.
Long enough to see the hunger in one person's eyes.
Compassion for minorities, he weeps to think that anyone could ever be alone.
He's a seeker, he's a savior, who strives to save the children,
but he's never had a child of his own.
He's united with the universe, he's the one with stars and sea.
He can love the whole damned human race.
So then why is he so afraid to be in love with me?
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