He rose from dead, ascended high,
And then he ran away;
He’s gone to live with those who die,
With those who’ve lost their way.
He’s hid down streets, he’s hid in squats,
The red lights chief locale,
He’s hid amongst the poor have-nots,
Refuse of Shopping Mall.
He smells of puke and stale beer,
Behind every broken door
He’s in the pub, he’s lost in care
Go touch him among the poor
And every day he’s begging us
“Come to my poor district;
My council soon will repossess;
My life’s in deficit.
I should be in hospital,
I’ve got a dirty gash.
I’m in the tip; I’m in the gaol;
I’m rooting through your trash.
I work all night and hide all day,
I’m a mum who’s been through hell.
I’ve been abused; a rejected gay;
My people – make me well.”
Whate’r you do to the least of these,
Sons, daughters, loved by me
I take it done to me, the Lord
So set my children free.