This huddling in my coat this gypsy bundle. In Liverpool in squalor cast adrift. A dirty ragged mess of desperation. Though devil-touched I took as God's gift. No history no owner no rhyme no reason. Nor explanation of his sorry state. And yet with all the fire of the survivor. I couldn't leave it. I couldn't leave it to its fate. What are we to do with it?. Dirty ragged coloured breed. Welcome it with open arms?. Welcome one more mouth to feed?. Could your own blood not provide you. With the gratitude you need?. We will call the boy Heathcliff!. And every man on earth conceals a secret. On which he feeds and yet tears him apart. And in this child so great that complication. Will surely destroy the strongest heart. And as you fall into the traps he sets you. And as you're drawn to cross his reckless line. And as I watch you peer into his darkness. I pray you'll never search. I pray you'll never search for mine. What are we to do with it?. Dirty ragged coloured breed. Welcome it with open arms?. Welcome one more mouth to feed?. Could your own blood not provide you. With the gratitude you need?. We will call the boy Heathcliff!