I walk the streets,
through broken bottles,
rusty nails, oil, grease,
past drug dealers, the "cat house",
things I probably shouldn't let you see
at your age.
You shouldn't have to live like this,
hopefully you will understand someday
that mommy didn't hate you.
She just couldn't survive
without medical help...
But until then it's gonna be just another day.
Another day in poverty,
living off what I can find for us in the streets.
Another day trying to survive the grief.
Just another day for you and me.