Sticks and stones may break my bones
But words, your words can kill me
You sit up tall in your steel throne
While assuming your servant, I'll be
I clean and compliment all day long
But you must do one better
You say that all I do is wrong
Knock me down like a feather
You beat me with your steel-tongued whip
Smiling as I scream and cry
Then pick me up, wipe the blood off my lip
With gentle hands and lies
I cannot leave, you know that well
I know how it feels to be sad
But no, Your Majesty, of course I can tell
Your life is the one that's bad
I can't imagine the hard times
That you have been forced through
What's that, every time the noon bells chime
You'll have chores for me to do?
Now, I'm not sure I can take much more
I think it's time that I go
The next time you walk through that door
Where your servant is, you'll never know.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem