Her face is cut and dirty,
Her clothes are ripped and torn,
She sheltered under door-ways;
Weary and forlorn.

Her fragile soul is broken
By her abusive past,
She's the kind of child
That grew up way too fast.

Her father, always drunk,
Her mother didn't care;
And when her father beat her,
Mummy wasn't there.

Her father drunk their money,
Her mother went quite wild.
She shouldn't have to cope with this;
She's only just a child.

October 2008