A feathery touch with a small hand,
arousing the twisted erotic minds
cant they not understand?
or are they just too blind!?
sweat pouring from the sweet innocent face
pulsating with horror & shame
sweet child tis not your fault
but what use is our grace.
distraught I saw pictures so raw
curdling the very spirit of life within
what use is all this pshaws, go child may you get some wings
fly away from the picture where I see
into the skies your hollow eyes reveal
fly by my window sometimes, fly into the worlds unreal
linger here is a death knell sound, surely
you know it by now. fly away from that body
that now is the scent for the bears that kneel.
love & life have left thy hands, or so you must feel
fear not my child there is hope even now
just wait till all this heals; what lies!
I can’t bear to write this song of hope
for the child which is being tied with a rope
to be brutalized by these men with no hope
of freedom, can she ever feel without a grope?
senseless numbness gathers all around
when I see the sounds that can drive a devil to ground
is there no realm that man will not touch
is there no part a man will not go
near the devil’s lair is the home of such men
what use is this, when all I can give is hope