Before he could talk, he could sing. Of course, while you could distinguish the syllables, you could not differentiate his utterances. Foreigners say that unique to Romania is their love for music and their ability to make it. But Lica, as his street friends call him, is not singing for his love for music; he is singing for his living.

Mothers from all across the world | Mamelor din lumea intreaga

We want to give you a little piece of advice | Noi va dam un singur sfat

Don't leave your children on the streets | Nu lasati copii pe strada

Because a child without his mother | Caci copilul fara mama

Is like a tree without its fruit | E ca pomul fara rost

Today he's born; tomorrow he dies | Azi se naste, maine moare

But you'll never forget that he's yours. | Si nu-l poti uita de-un fel.

A young, miserable face draws the pity out of a few desensitized bus passengers. The more pathetic he looks, the more likely hands will dig into pockets hunting for loose change. Vasilica, becoming an artist in his vocation, goes from bus-to-bus, station-to-station collecting nickels and pennies.

We are from the orphanage | Noi suntem de la camin

To us our parents never come | La noi parintii nu vin

We don't have a mother; we don't have a father | Nu avem mama, nu avem tata

We are forsaken by our future | Suntem parasiti de soarta

I had a mom and a dad | Am avut mama si tata

But they left me all at once | Dar m-a parasit deodata

I also had a little brother | Am avut si-un frate mic

But he up and left me too. | Dar si el m-a parasit.

Some may say, “Good for him. At least he's doing something to earn what he gets,” but they who speak do not know the job description of a little beggar. Lica is put on the streets by his parents or by older street children to make money. His parents threaten punishment if he doesn't return with money; the older street children offer protection if he works for them. Wearing no shoes, kneeling on cold, wet floors, and crying out a song, Lica is rarely seen without a sore throat and a runny nose.

Mama don't you miss me? | Mama nu ti-e dor de mine?

Get a train and come to see me. Ia trenul si vino la mine.

If you think it's just too far, Daca vezi ca-i prea departe,

Then stop and write me a letter. Da-te jos si scrie-mi in carte

I'll read it in bed before I sleep S-o citesc in dormitor

While my little eyes softly weep. Cu lacrimi in ochisori.

Vasilica accompanies his song with the prayer “Our Father Who Art in Heaven,” which serves as a constant reminder that God gives us our daily bread, but why does this little one have to beg for his?