Who's mother is but a face
Absent, sick, humbled with tears
Knowing that not even she can save him
At that very moment, it all ended
Her part is completed.
He now has a life of his to live.
God save this child.
Even a dog would fight
Animals in the kingdom do
Turning phlebotomists as they should
It is a mother's first calling
Forget self preservation
That child takes precedence
And then there is John
For $1,150, he will work
For $1,150, he'll live jailed
For $1,150, he'll lose face
For $1,150, he'll be the child whose worth depends on his ability to care for another child
He'll forever wonder why
Or maybe he wont.
Maybe he'll soon realize it's only because he looks like midnight.
And I don't know what could be more telling of a child's worth
That even your mother cannot save you from the monsters
Who creeped out from the horror tales you've been told
Seeped into your dreams
Came through from under your bed
And looked your mother in the face, daring to say
"John, sold for $1,150."
|John and another boy.|
And just like that,
John became a child slave.