[ robert buck/natalie merchant ]


That young boy without a name Id know his face.
In this city the kids my favorite.
Ive seen him. I see him every day.
Seen him run outside looking for a place to hide from his father,
The kid half naked and said to myself o, whats the matter here?
Im tired of the excuses everbody uses, hes their kid I stay out of it,
But who gave you the right to do this?

We live on morgan street;
Just ten feet between and his mother, I never see her,
But her screams and cussing, I hear them every day.
Threats like: if you dont mind I will beat on your behind,
Slap you, slap you silly.
Made me say, o, whats the matter here?
Im tired of the excuses everybody uses, hes your kid, do as you see fit,
But get this through that I dont approve of what you did to you own flesh and blood.

If you dont sit on this chair straight
Ill take this belt from around my waist and dont think that I wont use it!

Answer me and take your time,
What could be the awful crime he could do at such young an age?
If Im the only witness to your madness offer me some words to balance out what I see and what I hear.
All these cold and rude things that you do I suppose you do because he belongs to you
And instead of love, the feel of warmth youve given him these cuts and sores wont heal with time or age.

I want to say whats the matter here?
But I dont dare say.