Perry Campanella (5/18/1948 / NYC)

Setting on a park bench going nowhere
when a blind stranger taps me on one shoulder
he opens his newspaper, then says Right-There
look at that, would you, I say: I'm talkin' to a solider

Wait till I'm off this phone please
without another word he sets beside me,
opens a lunch box with a squeakie lid, sneeze
being that man I am, handing him a tissue, see

Ya know, feelin' imposed upon, yet he seeming friendly
I really wanted to be alone, though your here now said I
please make yourself comfortable, while I finish-calmly
saying Good-Bye

Waistin' no time at all to strike up a chat
he stated please Mr. did you read this mornin' paper
have you heard it's a funeral, an what people are sayin'
our king of Pop culture passed, on his way to his maker

No-way, not today it's a beautiful day
are you sure it says that
have a look for yourself said he-ay
read it to me I'm blind, I thought as I set

I'd love to help you, only I can't read
Oh! I'm sorry I asked you
are you homeless, living in this park, what do you need
Not at all kind Sir, stood-up with cane-I'm a little blind too

We said a small prayer, Thank you! Good-Bye