Prrr! The trumpet goes,
Scrambles for her is beyond fate,
The stress on that lass, indeed the matter is grave,
What have the done to him?
Mummy… Can you take a shower,
The irate benign could base as he comes out of panaroma,
Maps of scars all over the visage from lashes never missed,
Hetcher crept along the wall , with the fear of catch,
No, what have they done to him?
Out he came from the hut beyond the western horizon,
Depressed, tears welling his formerly cute eyes,
“Why this Lord ? Kill me now if I wronged you” he shouted at the top of his voice, “purchase my soul to mummy with only a pound”
There she comes , down to the fields he ran, again the brawl is on,
Pardon me, what have they done to him?
Would you mind me? He humbles affectionately,
As they swarm away to the monetary cabin of Wangeci,
Her twin lass waves at him with untamed garment,
I observe the pain devouring him from inside with gall,
Poor me! What have the done to him?
Today, I stand to hell out the injustices of my pal,
Affectionately, it psychs my moods,
Its the face of extinction indeed! I dream all night,
Hetcher’s cries scamper away as he fall asleep never to wake up again!
What have the done to him?
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