I am not for sale

Sweaty all over
The moppets are overworked.
Skin nearly torn,
The duty is incapable of being shirked.

Sent near unknown souls
Used for their alluring features,
Mouth to be shut!
They won't stop, those monstrous creatures.

Life because of pay,
Circumstances generate money out of trade
This is their story
The little ones are foreordained to be in shade.

Touch their poor vague bodies, there's nothing to hide.
The misery is transparent, like a shadow that walks along throughout an entity,
reminding them of their mourning fate
To be griefed of later,when every virtuous helper will have died.