In a church outside of Boston,
a lone candle holds a flame;
it burns e’er for some lost son,
tho’ no one knows his name.
In town, ‘ere is a circus show,
and ‘ere, in the center ring,
stands a man who seems to know
he could have been a king.
In bed of some forgotten stall,
an orphan girl weeps a while;
she stands barely three feet tall,
and she never seems to smile.
In the sky, I see stars go out,
as of those souls spent in vain;
and, one by one, I’m left without,
ne’ermore to sing their refrain.