"Help, help!"
Cried a boy in the wings,
Beaten and bruised by his father,
"A broken heart cannot be fixed," he sings.
Through his tears of mental agony and torture,
He takes a gander at the long black whip,
When he counts to three it will be alright,
He shivers with trembling lips.
On the count of one,
He stares at him with interrogating eyes,
On the count of two,
He says his last goodbyes.
On the count of three,
He's no longer here,
His soul peacefully rests with God,
As he sheds one last tear.