Listen to my voice on the telephone.
Are you on the street? Are you on your own?
I won't make a scene, I just want to hear you,
Tell me are you hurting? Are you disillusioned?
You are welcome home.

It was the month of June,
No one had in mind what she would do.
Would very soon be leaving.
If they only knew they could have
Worked it out in time.
But here they are still grieving.

Listen to my voice on the telephone.
Are you on the street? Are you on your own?
I won't make a scene, I just want to hear you,
Tell me are you hurting? Are you disillusioned?
You are welcome home.

What can they do but get down
On their knees and pray
And share the blame for being
Too busy to do those little things
That make the change,
Now is it too late for healing.

And the wonder of it all is that
There is One who will
Hear a mother's prayer
And there can be love and understanding.

As the story goes,
There was a silence on the phone
Then in a moment broken.
She cried I have done wrong,
Let me come home,
Let's work it out, and they said the door is open.

And the wonder of it all is that
There is One who will
Hear a father's prayer
And there can be love and understanding.
Welcome Home.