Who cares for the ****** child
Who will feed the dark haired child,
Rock him to sleep
And teach him how to be kind

Who cares for the old *****
The old ***** was young once
With skin as smooth as youth was strong
Lips with luster and hair, silk and long
Her eyes were bright then when she was young

Who will clean the dark walls of the stark stone halls,
The stained stone that crumbles at the corners of her house?

There is sadness in the corners, under the shelves, under the bed,
It lurks in the dark unlit places,
Hides in the wrinkles on her skin, and lines of tired eyes
It lays beneath the bright flowery stained sheets
And drifts under the smoke of cigarettes and scented candles
The sound of sadness plays
Like background music and whispers into nothing
But it plays on, it plays long after
It is there, her sadness
In saccharine smiles, sickly sweet

Oh poor young *****
Who will keep the harsh words and dark deeds from your door,
From your body and your soul

Oh poor young *****
Life is unkind
And mankind unkind to