Those folks behind the church house doors,
Are as strange as they can be;
They sing of how they send the light,
But they never notice me.
They reminisce of yesteryear,
When converts they did see;
They scratch their heads and wonder why,
But they never notice me.
The latest charts and graphs and polls,
They study endlessly;
They know their demographics,
But they never notice me.
I understand they send their men,
To the lost across the sea;
They care for the souls around the globe,
But they never notice me.
Am I invisible to them?
With eyes can they not see?
I live and work so close to them,
But they never notice me.
I’d likely come if they’d just ask,
The truth could make me free;
But here I wonder while I wait,
Why don’t they notice me?