o people you know, they think you're Mr. It because you fool them with all your charm and your wit.

But behind closed doors, the monster comes out when you raise your fist and begin to shout.

"It hurts me more than it hurts you," is the excuse you use to do what you do.

So you bruise their bodies and scar their souls they're too ashamed so the abuse is untold.

And sweet little ones, they beg and they plead, but their painful cries you don't care to heed.

And even at night, there's no peaceful sleep. You torment their dreams so they sob and they weep.

And neghbors know but say no words, HOWLING CRIES, they know they've heard.

"It's not my business," this they say to clear their conscious and walk away.
But all little ones need our love and grace and mercy from God above.

So reach out gently to touch their souls so the silence is broken and the story told.



   

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