Out on the freight line there's an old hobo camp
Where a drunk man lay sleepin' in a ragged old tram
And the lines on his face mark a life on the run
Is he somebody's husband, somebody's son?
Well every week the newspaper tells a story of rage
Where the victims lay scattered across the front page
And there's always some loner, on a spree with a gun
Is he somebody's husband, somebody's son?
From the death rows of prison to the soup kitchen door
Each soul is an equal in the eyes of the Lord
Though hatred consumes them, once they were loved
They were somebody's husband, somebody's son
So out on your journey down the highways of life
Cherish your mother, crave the love of your wife
And forget not the outcast and the homeless were once
Somebody's husband, somebody's son
From the death rows of prison to the soup kitchen door
Each soul is an equal in the eyes of the Lord.
Though hatred consumes them, once they were loved
They were somebody's husband, somebody's son
They were somebody's husband, somebody's son
They were somebody's husband, somebody's son