Seventeen

Seventeen times he have been sticking around,
broken seven hearts and seen his dad cry.

Seventeen times he have sitting up there in his room
listening to the fights downstairs.

Seventeen tears has fallen in seven years.
He’s turning eight next year and he is my child.

His mother is gone, she left years ago.
There’s a new woman, he doesn’t like her like I do
but he’s just child and doesn’t know what love is.

Seventeen years from now on he still sticking around
in this village of moonlight.
He doesn’t speak, he hasn’t since he was eight.
He doesn’t cry anymore, he doesn’t live anymore.

We buried him here outside our backyard.
We live peace, and so does he.