Making ends meet, dad was always drunk All I could trace and gun ‘Mighty hand, I am down to this gore’ The tide of tussle roil around our hut And I talked, ‘can I breed and breath with this burn’?
As I grade the route of crowning mama proud I coil to burning candles on the clock till dawn Scripted letters were all I fetch But a brainy bird will have to be stretch Back abode, as fees edge This is where it hurts.
From the frosty punch of daily troubles The wonky meal we pound on, doubles For we were only greasing leftovers From the brim of wealthy containers Often, mama will toil from east to west with hunger Oh! This is where it hurts.
Dripped from the walls of the school My shadows never crossed exams as they should For this has been my greatest shoe Oh! My candles are now as fading moon For I look back in anger Mother, this is where it hurts.
