I was walking down the street the other day
and a sight came before my eyes
it was a little hippie boy, I must have been twice his size
his appearence typified his strange breed
gaudy clothes, long stringy hair hanging down
I'd seen perhaps a thousand in my early trips to town
as he walked beside me on down the block
I noticed no unpleasing smell
he might have been on the weed or even LSD
but if he was I couldn't tell
so we walked together that way through this neighborhood
finally he turned around to me
and he said friend, you know we're a million miles apart
but you know something we can enjoy the sunshine and the weather
so why don't we put our differences aside
and just talk to each other
you see this box beneath my arm
to you it's plain, it has no charm
but to someone dearest to my heart this box has played a tragic part
this little one can't tell you himself about his life and how he died
but if anyone else could speak for him I guess I'm qualified
this boy was in Chicago, he didn't know why he was there
he was with his family and friends and he didn't really care
you might have been one of those
who saw the struggle there on your television screen
the tragic thing is so much else happened
that no one else could have seen
a stranger handed this boy a dollar to do a simple chore
to carry a package to a nearby hotel
and when he returned he'd get two more
but when he came back he sort of lost his way walking thru the crowd
one of them things you ask yourself, how the Lord allowed
but when he was found he was like he is now
dreaming sweet and still
and in his little hand was a crumpled dollar bill
now you can take that dollar
get four cents on it compound