Slap for breakfast, kick for dinner and torture for lunch

And whenever she fell sick her medicine was a punch

Matilda’s growing life was beaten to death inside her womb

And Jack her husband almost beat her into an early tomb

Now her eyes see nothing as she stares into empty space

Terrible tests and tastes of hell left scary scars on her frightened face

Help had hated her hurting heart and unhappy life

And he decided to put her in sadness, sorrow, silence and strife

How would she dare to speak

Oh no she wouldn’t dare, not when his rage was at his peak

Why would she she open her mouth to tell Jack to stop

And risk pissing him off and having him uproot her life like an unwanted crop

Rains of abuse would shower her frail, feeble frame

Droughts of happiness plague her sad soul with pain.