I walk through the crowded streets,
Searching, searching for my baby.
Where is my baby? I silently ask.
And I go on searching, searching for my baby.
In the streets there is sickness,
And I wonder, is my baby sick is she dying?
I hear a child cry Mommy, Mommy here I am.
I turn but no one is there.
And I go on searching, searching for my baby.
I turn and I see a small lump off to the side,
Discarded like a piece of trash.
I walk closer and begin to see
The small hands the small feet of a child,
Then I see a face
It is the face of my baby,
Covered in the scars of this horrible disease.
I cry out why, why did you take my baby from me?
Then I take a knife
And I think why not there is no reason to live.
Then I see my face it is the face of my baby.
So I sit back and await this horrible death.