No Name Immigration

I was born in King,
a grey hospital amongst the shacks of tin,
my parents raised me to not sin,
and gave it all,
would have died to save me from a fall.
But they tried too hard,
got lost with no regard,
And then their God
turned his back in the dark.
You see my father was a preacher,
and like every teacher,
the audience grew weaker,
one day they never came,
like a stadiums empty bleachers,
the seats became cold,
and then we continued to try and grow old.
But the church is funny,
when only five people came they got no money,
so they let us go,
but to where we did not know.
we ended up on Angelo rd in Charlo,
my Uncles house,
under trees that hang low,
they met in the middle and shaded the road below.
For a year we stayed,
then finally we packed,
and left to go away,
On the way I thought the plane would land in the clouds faraway,
but rather we landed in PA,
never again to say South Africa is where we stay.