Playing it safer than safe, not needing to rhyme, having to feel that everything need chime
‘Cos life throws at you all kinds of strife, no easy task, not even for the finest taskmaster out there
Trust me when I say that they have days of despair too
It isn’t easy, saw a kid the other day cry her young eyes out
Eyes that really shouldn’t see all that they have seen
An abusive mother, atop that an all too ignorant-when-drunk father
Leaving in the lurch a poor and lonely daughter
Of Irish descent, I’m not too sure
Whether or not she wants back abroad once more it’s hard to say
On with her day, playing with her dolls
We’re more alike than we think, both dealing with hardship, hers oh so real, mine not so much
I guess that’s just it, we each have a crutch that we use in different ways
I’ve very little to say other than I do hope that she will be alright, that her obese and obsolete mother doesn’t lay another hand to her face
The prettiest face with a taste for the wrong kind of things
In fact I think I hear her outside right now, humming away to herself, possibly teaching herself to sing
A nice pursuit, something that might just suit what she’s going through, take her away from hell
Land her smack bang in the middle of a happy pursuit, what any kid deserves, to cycle her bike and an all too welcome quell when it comes to pain
A pretty girl who should get to sing along whichever way she likes, not hide behind my house, floods of tears, head down, staring solemnly at the wheels of her bike