Born in a field of wealth and gold
She didn't know it very well
Her brother and father left out in the cold

Fed grass with the pigs and the chickens and so
She sang her sad tune in her suitcase
Filled with pictures of gap toothed smiles

She fed her captors three times a day
They honoured her leader with slaps on the back
While her vision grew darker, imprisoned by life's cruel hand

When the war was over they packed up and left
Her scars in the kitchen, traumatized but alive

She met a man with dirty lungs
On a bike they road as three
Soon after, eleven mouths to feed
The man's lungs gave in
So she got on her knees and cleaned
So she got on her knees and cleaned
So she got on her knees and cleaned
So she got on her knees and cleaned

The children were unloving and ungrateful
They mourned their father with theft and abuse

And so
She fed her captors three times a day
They honoured her leader with slaps on the back
While her vision grew darker, imprisoned by life's cruel hand
While her vision grew darker, imprisoned by life's cruel hand

Now she's gone
In a home
In the west
All alone