Behind Locked Doors

Picture this in you mind if you can,
a little girl with blood on her hands,
now think again and try to see
this little girl on bended knee,
picture her father, who’s hit her before,
calls out her name as he opens her door,
wobbles and falls from side to side,
his drunken stupor he tries to hide,
he picks her up and throws onto the bed,
she cries out in pain as she hits her head,
once again her pain is to begin,
her father’s anger through whiskey and gin,
so many children today and before,
fear for their lives behind the locked door,