People walk past you; think nothing of you,
My poor helpless thing.
My hurt child, you poor helpless thing,
"Just another ordinary day" they sing.
When they do notice you, does it hurt to get caught in the fray?
Does it hurt that you can do nothing, but run away?
My poor helpless thing.
When they think or say anything of you they are terrible.
They call you stupid, ugly, and even more.
It not only cuts me, but scars me to my very core,
My poor helpless thing.
My hurt child, you poor helpless thing,
"Just another ordinary day" they sing.
This one morning, I found a note, from my poor helpless thing.
She is gone now, you see.
They took her from me.
My poor helpless thing.
