the maid in our house raised me and she loves me like her own I see but when she asked for a raise my father said she wasn’t worthy of such praise And it kind of put me in a haze for I see her working 16 hours a day in freezing winters and in the middle of May without so much of a complaint no matter what she’s going through a smile on her face she’d paint I’d come to see her as a saint For she ironed my clothes and kept me fed & didn’t mind my temper and some lousy words I’d said She forgave everyone before going to bed and never had time for a tear to shed long mornings and short nights She lived separated from our world and it’s heights Thinking of the mouths to feed millions of miles away So she worked till her feet ached without any dismay My respect for her was always great but my anger is greater Because what is this world where money and wealth kills us sooner or later and we are never equal because someone is a pheasant while others are regal my paper planes don’t equate to your steel ones and yet I should smile I say that money isn’t everything While someone starves eating mud while you some show off their new diamond rings so tell me how is that fair? can’t god give everyone their decent share? Or does he see their suffering and simply doesn’t care? call it blasphemy, but I can’t bare to see despair on the face of millions, because it’s something we can repair Yet no one lifts a finger or gives a penny to spare Because god did not make us equal & that’s the truth when it’s bare.
My father didn’t actually say that but that’s just a reflection of how the society I grew up in find house workers less of a being than they are