Tears in your eyes
They are mine
And the pain in your soul
That is mine too.
Knowing this,
How can I turn away?

The knife in his gut-
I thrust it there
He breathes his last
Because of my hand.
And yet I die with him also.
For I am the warm knife,
The killer and the victim.
Seeing this, how shall I hate?

The prince born in the palace
But stolen to the slum
Is turned pauper.
And the beggar child
Raised amongst riches
Shall be the Queen.