With chaos and confusion,
people hurled to tow the line,
onto the dusty bus in hurried climb,
tightly packed like a tin of sardine.

Who would tell the world,
who might stand as a witness,
don't they know of my troubles,
of the terror engulfing my life.

A struggled peek at my mother's face,
I see tears rolling to form a stream,
don't they know mama is crying,
please do something! Do something!
nobody listens to the child underneath.

Gloom and despair hovers the dusty bus,
trecking slowly through mud and slash,
in the darkness of night it comes to pass,
and I keep thinking, don't they know,
about mama's quietly rolling tears!

Don't they know about the gloom,
the weary faces and despaired mood,
why must the bus keep on the move,
I ask don't they know? Don't they know?

Mama's soft hand caresses mine,
in gentle soothing strokes,
eyes firmly planted onto mine,
her tears rolling in perfect flow,
she uttered, they do, child! They know.

May God give you strength!