Song of the Little Cripple at the Street Corner

Maybe my soul’s all right. But my body’s all wrong, All bent and twisted, All this that hurts me so. My soul keeps trying, trying To straighten my body up. It hangs on my skeleton, frantic, Flapping its terrified wings. Look here, look at my hands, They look like little wet toads After a rainstorm’s over, Hopping, hopping, hopping. Maybe God didn’t like The look of my face when He saw it. Sometimes a big dog Looks right into it.