Testi:
Wounded The Child

As I see you here a sleep, Arms wide open your eyes a little weird. And a shivering on the rhythm, Of the deeds of a very old man. I want to heal this

think the heart remains a child. The mind may grow wise, but the heart just sulks and it whines and remains a child. I think the heart remains a child

i am the wound. i am the flame. i am the slap, and yet the face. i am the hammer. the mirror that shatters. i am the blast. the child in tatters. i am

Pratt, And come through cockin' tha black pound, When they put the twin towers up, Pac, I'm knockin' 'em back down, Poster child, Air Force Ones, with

curfew Cook and clean for the kid like silly in color purple (UH-HUH UH-HUH) I know you wanna pop me but (but) If I hit you first, the exit wound gon

Little tramp comin' up the strip with a hundred dollar smile Sparks flyin' off her fingertips, drive the young cop wild Some nights are wound so tight

I was a child in the '60s So unsure of my direction I would follow where my friends and family would lead I was strengthened When I first heard the

wound, dominate my new found spirit land. Seeking wisdom in the darkness hovering helplessly around our pain crying with absence of real tears, like a child

In this place There's a wounded hand Felt a chain Where the links met up Round a name In the faceless age Cursed and pained And your windowpane As the