They walk amongst us; yet we fail to see, the pain and
disappear foreign to you and me. They hang their heads a
little to low; trying to go Unnoticed, to not let it show.


They fear the day someone might tell; for their life would become
an even worse hell. They don't cry anymore what good does it do,
they know that Will only make it more rough than smooth.


They simply spend their time on earth being punished and striped of
their worth. And one day you read in the paper their gone, beaten or
starved For oh so long. Hair on a pillow full of tangles;
God Bless them all "The Concrete Angels"


Kathalise Martin
Aug. 11th 2003
Inspired by Martina McBride