suffering of the young
The innocence in the children’s eyes
Always evokes this pain
Hundreds of questions sadistically torture my brain
The suffering of the very young
Makes the Blood boil in every vein
Oh my sweet ones
What will happen when you grow old?
A story yet to be told
Would the eagles and falcons still own the sky?
Would the cardinals the canaries and love birds still sing and fly?
Would the humming birds still fan the roses?
Would the roses still shower with the pure drops of rain?
Would the trees still be there?
What would happen to the snow?
Would the rivers still flow?
Would we still hug, kiss and interact with each other face to face?
Or it will all be texting Facebook and a Twitter
Oh my sweet ones
Oh my sweet ones
I am angry like never before
Every time I hear that a child got abused
Every time I watch the news
Every time the amber alert is on
Every time a parent screams in despair
I get angry like never before
Ads in children’s shows
Contaminated baby’s food
Hazardous cradles and toxic toys
Millions of children who work like slaves
I am sorry did I say like slaves
They are worse than slaves
I must confess I have a thing or two again those
Those who do and those who allowed happening
I get so angry like never before
Can’t they see can’t they see
When innocence is abused assassinated mutilated
What is left in this world?
Have I made sense or I just tainted another page
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