the ballad of the lonely boy

My name is John and I feel lonesome
It's raining out and nobody has time to play with me;
I only have my hands to build, my eyes to read
my feet to run with but I have no company.

I wait for friends to show up at my door
I wait for mom to come from work;
I have some homework on my desk
and can decide from what I have to do what's best

I have to lift myself from this sad mood
I start to count by lifting up a finger:
Mom she calls me "my good boy", she says I am hers;
that is not really true because - on the count of two
I realize my father says I'm his too.
I also have two grandmothers and a grandfather,
a godtmother, a good cousin, a couple aunts and uncles
that all say they love me so.

They are my family and they are many;
although they may not live close by
they all say that I'm theirs and love me so;
and when I think of them my soul gets warm.

if one could figure out today a way
to turn love into heat we are so many
in this family that we could keep tho whole world warm;
until then I think I am not lonesome after all.