God Help The Outcasts – By Npmr

I don’t know if you can hear me,
Or if you’re even there.
I don’t know if you will listen
to a humble prayer.

You once listened to me, or so I believed when I thought I was protected by your grace. When to me as the saying goes, ignorance truly had been my bliss, my shield and salvation. Before the demons that whispered insidiously inside my brain took control over me and made me weak.

They tell me I am just an outcast.
I shouldn’t speak to you.
Still, I see your face and wonder,
Were you once an outcast, too?

I once had everything, now sitting here in St. Luke’s with nothing. All I wanted was to protect my family from what I had done while out of control, yet they all now hate me and look at me with such disgust that I want to fall to my knees and rip out my eyes, to forever block out the sight.

God help the outcasts,
Hungry from birth.
Show them the mercy
They don’t find on Earth.

I can still remember the wonder I felt when I had “learnt” that I was one of your chosen. The mysticism and grace. For once I felt that I belonged and outside of losing Marlena, the truth that I wasn’t yours hurt me most.

The lost and forgotten,
They look to you still.
God help the outcasts,
Or nobody will.

I wonder if that was what drew Stefano to me. The belief that I was an outcast, no family, no name. I’ll never ask him. Never will give him the satisfaction of hearing me ask him why me.

I ask for nothing,
I can get by,
But I know so many
Less lucky than I.

They never had the family, the memories and love that I did. While I was Roman and then as I was John. But the security blanket being taken away as quickly as it was, means that my fall from grace hurt more.

God help the outcasts,
The poor and downtrod.
I thought we all were
The children of God.

I will try to make up for what I have done. Hoping that in time, Marlena will see me. She has allowed me though to see the children. As I said to Kristen once, the one thing Marlena would never deny me is seeing our children. She’s not tried to taint their hearts and minds against me.

I don’t know if there’s a reason
Why some are blessed, some not.
Why the few you seem to favor,
They fear us, flee us,
Try not to see us.

I keep waiting for someone to tell me to get out of here, that I was not worthy to be in your house. But if not allowed here, where else can I find some state of mind that is not cloudy and full of pain?

God help the outcasts,
The tattered, the torn.
Seeking an answer to why they were born.
Winds of misfortune
Have blown them about.
You made the outcasts,
Don’t cast them out.
The poor and unlucky,
The weak and the odd.
I thought we all were
The children of God.

(Sung by Bette Midler)