Your Way Home

If I'm a poor man, count me lucky,
For the beat in my heart, oh lord.
With no riches, life is easy,
if you know what life's for.
I've got food on my plate, I just don't know how to eat it no more.

Yes I'm a rich man, with no gold.
My body is young but my soul feels old, oh lord.
If you have riches, life is hard,
with your eyes going blind, and your spirit being scarred.
They'll give thanks, for the wine in their glass,
but they won't know about the flowers, the trees or the grass.

If there's a purpose to our lives I know how to fill it, oh lord.
I've got marrow in my bones, and it shivers to their groans.
I've got food on my plate, I just ain't gonna eat it on my own.

If you're a poor man count your blessings,
you'll find you've got more than any rich man could adore, Oh lord.
From the beat in your heart, to the fire in your soul.
If you don't thank for them now, Oh lord,
He's gonna make sure, you reap what you sow.
We all have life in our bones,
just be sure when you leave them alone,
oh lord, be sure you're on your way home.
You're on your way home.