There's something different about you, I know,
A sad, horrid uniqueness, that compels you to live in a slave row.....
That makes you sick and perverted; a heartbeat near,
stalking in shadows or amongst our children, maybe a peer.
But, I beseech you Mr., Mrs. or Miss, I plea from the heart so
Don't hurt our children; run away, get help fast, now go.
Satan wants you for his own, are you so dead at heart; don't you even see?
God has made a promise to punish you, if Cherubs they become; please listen to me.
Our children are blessings, precious and dear, innocent and His
He's watching you, He's all-knowing, your desires are evil, it's His biz.....
To give you a death far worse than the crime, if that imaginable can be
They will suffer at your lust, a stimulus you can change, please listen to me.
If the rush of violence entices you, wins you over, draws you near,
You can bet your boots, you're an easy target, Satan is after your rear!
You will lose, yes you will, no matter the outcome of your selfish choice,
You'd best beware, you won't be able to hide from His actions or voice!
Don't hurt our children; don't listen to an emotional reel
Don't hurt our children because you hunger to feel
A feeling rare; they are not yours to ravage and tear
They are God's little lambs, and you've become wolf's clothing, hide and hair!
That child isn't a ragdoll, nor a throw-away one night stand
Those aren't angels coming to get you; it's not harps in their band
Its hooves pounding and a sword swift and sharp singing in the wind
It's His promise a stone around your neck, a death brutal..... it you can't bend.
I can forgive you, it releases me, I'm free, but for you
Your dead mind and cold heart will entomb, it slew
A man or woman; a child you once were, so after God's heart,
Now a prize of Satan, with little effort on his part.
As a survivor, a part of him or her, your victim will forever die
Most will overcome, forgive, and go on and always try
To forget you as the monster, the demon live from hell
And warn others before the toll of your next bell.
Gina Ann Day © 2008
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