His name was Richard, his mother loved him,
Even long after he had gone on trial
For something he had done upon a whim
As though he was not just a Paedophile.
The trial was not that long he went to goal,
Kept locked away from all the others there,
But all protection sometimes has to fail,
And when they beat him up no one could care.
His mother loved him when they let him out,
Though people always knew what he had done
None understand what's there, what it's about,
Till someone finally got him with a gun.
They found him submerged in a dirty ditch,
Still just a poor boy though his name was rich.