At the hands of a blade I fall to my knees, As I peer up at evil, for my pain, they seem pleased, I can't quite grasp… how, or why? Why is my death something money can buy? Why do they continue, despite all my cries? And why do they encourage our fall, our demise? If only the world weren't so blinded by wealth, If only the world cared more for our health. And understood that my life is to raise my child, To live free and happy, roaming the wild. The parts of our bodies, don't determine our worth. It is not for your luxuries we exist on this Earth. A sacrifice on your behalf is effortless at worst, For the victims it is more severe, a fate that's plagued and cursed. If you walked by our side and seen for yourself the blood-bath, I'm sure you'd understand why we grieve and understand our wrath; And if life was fair, and offered the same fate to you, I ask with sincerity, what would you do? Would you whimper and cower, object with disgrace As the features you're born with are ripped from your face? Does the thought make you sick? Do you wish you could flee? Then why, oh why, would you do this to me? I plead for an answer as I lay in a heap, Moments away from my eternal sleep. My family are close, they're hiding near-by. The worst pain of all is them watching me die. I beg of you to stop, don't you see what you're doing? Are you truly immune to our pain and our ruin? Acknowledge your actions, before it's too late, Our numbers are falling - don't let death be our fate. Amy-Le Owens