Prayer for the Lost Boys

When you were only children
this boy might have been a friend.
Now that you have grown to men
lost memories of youth will rend.
Souls lost Satan enjoys.
On street corners they stand.
You’ll find a host of Lost Boys,
who never found their Neverland.

Do you feel indignation
to see him out on the street
asking for a donation
to get him back on his feet?
He’ll soon be sauced with joy.
Could you lend him a hand?
He’s just another Lost Boy,
who never found his Neverland.

Would you call him a hobo?
A generation that’s beat?
Homeless freegan au go go?
Another bum or old freak?
He can really annoy,
with his constant demand:
“Can you help out a Lost Boy,
who never found his Neverland?”

Peter Pan, Peter Pan,
grown up to be worthless man.
Nothin’ to do to keep him livin’
but beg what’s free and freely given.
Did he chose to live this way?
Does he chose to live this way?

He ain’t no Woody Guthrie
and don’t live by Thoreau’s pond.
Pursuing philosophy
is not part of his monde.
There’s no art to employ
that explains such a brand.
Reaching out is a Lost Boy,
who never found his Neverland.

Don’t forget there is danger
from those with nothing to lose
when you help out a stranger
with problems likely a ruse.
But if a hand you deploy,
one way to understand:
Call it a gift to a Lost Boy,
who never found his Neverland.

Say a prayer for the Lost Boys,
who never found their Neverland.

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