Poor Boy's Easter Day

I don't have flowers of sun The destiny took them away and gone Even i don't have colored eggs At this blissful Easter days I don't have golden combs To comb this dirty hair of mine And my shoes are jugged and old And it's already Easter day to hold My little brother's hand And go to our old church but how I'll go? People will make fun of me i know And i can hear them when they say 'Oh how a dirty grimy his hair is' 'Oh God look to his old nasty shoes' 'What is doing this poor boy here' 'Oh Tom my son don't go near then you become infected if you go near that beggar boy so stay here' And at the end ill return home To tear at my bed alone