I know the richest man in town
He talks to me whene’er we pass;
I know the poor who come for food
Or might need cash for power or gas

Or might not have a home at all.
I know them all, and they know me,
And yet I’m no one special, just
One member of humanity

Within this club that we call life,
Some sit up front, some in the back;
I’ve been both places in my days,
I know from plenty and from lack

It is our choices – good and bad –
That make up who we are, I feel;
And money, class, these other things –
Are not distinctions that are real

Just bits of pride we hold on to.
We live, we choose, we rise, we fall;
We care about each other, or
We think that we’re above it all

But we are not, we’re all the same.
There is a lens that shows us so:
So be we fools, or wise, or rich, or poor –
We still have each
Our long, long ways
To go