For sale as I need the Money,
The cuttest Baby shoes for my small son,
Alas for him they were too small for his feet
This poverty goes on and on,
This misery drags me through life,
It seems like a living hell,
My son’s eyes never accuse me,
Thought small, he knows all is not well,
One day he’ll be alone,
Cast out the to troubles of life,
This brings weeks without sleep,
And it cuts my soul like a knife.
