All men are made equal

Carried on the diaphanous city air are the strains of a children's choir, oozing from beneath a crooked church steeple

"Average Joe, how sweet the sound that saved a wretch like me…"

Homeless people raise their ragged heads to listen, as they litter the streets, begging each other for change.

(After all, we are all half-crazed beggars, and no one has a dime to beg away. To say nothing of change…)

"I once was lost, but now am found, was blind but now I see…"

A man without eyes helps a woman without sight cross the street in the darkness.

(He gave his eyes to someone who never had his beauty. She gave her sight to someone without hope of ever seeing beautiful things.)

It is hard to see the children. No one wants to be the one to admit that there are tall and short children, who should be divided into rows.

It is hard to hear the children. No one wants to be the one to admit that her voice is a glorious haloed demon of individuality.

And the tone-deaf invalid looks out her window and thinks to herself, "What a wonderful world."