Where can they turn when the streams have all run dry?
Should they simply die, fall down and cry or maybe try.
Well, try is what they do, and often they fool me and even you,
into thinking they're alright, surviving and doing just fine.
Until scars begin to show and tears begin to flow,
it is then we get a glimpse of the brokenness, the frailty and the shame.
Oh you know them, you've seen them, passed them, didn't even ask their name,
toddlers, babies, boys, girls, lost souls in new found atrocities,
that feed on innocent vessels and unsuspecting commodities.
Where can they go, those sweet little angels, who are destined to fall,
into the hands of child hater's and abuser's, who lie in wait for them all.
They have no protection and no home, just a house, where they live alone,
looking at people pass them by, who pretend to care; but they know they're on their own!
Neecy
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