You'll hear them coming

Their voices of thunder rise

I hear the sound of sweet children cries

They are not fair

They are not cheap

She barely get enough sleep

She, the women is caring 

with her head held high

The man who had put a mark on her thigh

She cries in the night hoping to last through the night

He put down his last bottle of booze

Not really knowing of much to do

Angered, unsatisfied, unpleased he needs to take out his needs

The one he knows who will not tell

He threatens her soul to hell

She is in pain

Yet she stays

Nothing can ever be the same if you live this way.