Celebration for a Gray Day

The other day in Suburban Station an amazing "happening" happened.  I was singing next to Au Bon Pain where there are several tables for people to sit and enjoy their java and a group of people, maybe twenty, took up residence at the tables next to me.  Two or three middle-aged women rode herd on about fifteen young girls, all between four and ten years old, teeming with energy and giggles.  I started singing "Itsy, Bitsy, Spider" and caught the attention of one, then two, who elbowed the others and sat up and listened with bright eyes.  One jumped up and walked over to me, then another.  Soon I had a small audience, all smiles and eventually singing along.  "Oh, sing another," they called, as I ended with "...crawled up the spout again."  I began to sing "The People on the Bus," where each verse you name someone on the bus, like the babies, who go "Wah, wah, wah."  Soon the wheels were going round and round, the driver was saying "move on back," and the mothers were going "sh, sh, sh."  We were all having a grand old time.  I notice now that several adults were grinning, enjoying the singing, probably wishing they could join in.  Then some of the girls took up ballroom stance and started dancing.  They explained it was Kelly's birthday, and wouldn't I sing "Happy Birthday" to her, which I did.  There was applause, laughter, giggles.
It was all so innocent.  Yet at the next table down, a woman was still passed out.  She had been there all day.  When I had arrived earlier to busk, she was lying on the floor.  The police had come and escorted her out of the station.  They said she had been drunk yesterday as well.  An hour later she returned to the same table, only to fall asleep again.
As she lay there, passed out again in her drunkenness, the children danced, sang happy birthday, giggled.  They wanted to sing another song, so I sang "Colours" by Donovan, and they made up verses, adding their own colors to Donovan's, with objects which make them feel the best, when they see them in the morning, when they rise. 
All such innocense, existing side-by-side with drunkenness, the grittiness of the city.  These white kids were obviously killing time till their train would take them to the suburbs, to their safe communities, away from underbelly of the city, which had not seemed to rub off on them in the least bit during their day of pre-Christmas shopping.  I wanted to sing another song by Donovan which talks about the derelict buildings and huddling in the cold, but I figured, why spoil their party, why pop their bubble. 
On the other hand, maybe I missed a teaching moment.
Merry Christmas.