Picture this, an empty street,
An empty man with an empty dream.
He meets a stranger's wandering stare,
What he gives back is an empty glare.

A broken man, a fallen flight
Is what the stranger saw that night.
The only man he'd ever see
Walking down that barren street.

For the second he'd stopped to look,
He read him like an open book.
The spine of the book destroyed and torn.
In his palms a giant thorn.

A happy ending is all he lacked.
With a single shot wound to the back,
The empty man fell to the ground,
Left to lay in his blood to drown.

The stranger was broken too that day,
So he dropped to his knees to pray,
"Lord," he said, "I have sinned,
But this is where his story begins.

"That man had walked alone tonight,
He never thought he'd see the light.
I rescued him from his fate
And sent him to dwell amidst your gate.

"Please take him in and treat him well,
He no longer lives in hell."
As he wiped the sweat from his brow,
He whispered, "Lord, he's in your hands now."