The child of sickness cries for peace,
For simple love, for pure release,
But those of us who've gone before
Just roll our eyes and slam the door.
We've worn the shoes that child is in;
Can't we remember where they've been,
What tainted ghetto, frigid cold?
Have we forgot as we've grown old?
Have we forgotten that despair
Is thick as blood, not thin as air?
Have we forgotten that the knife
Can open veins and end a life?
But most of all, can't we recall
Our words can cause that child to fall?
It's our responsibility
To lend our hearts to those in need.
Heaven help us, who are safe
To not forget our past mistakes,
To heed the lost, whose painful cries
Seem overdone to selfish eyes.