Through A Cloud

Wasted Young,
hold your gun,
Faith as bright as the morning sun,
Fathers dead,
Or so they said,
In dragged the dogs bones now and then,
Curtious enough,
Not to make things tough,
he came for them with no care before him.

Breaking the chain, making life harder
Growing up, things get tougher older
Waking up, lifes not made of butterflies
Stop looking at life asthough it worked from a childs eyes.

Making fun,
of a child once loved,
before the devils came and drew his blood,
walking corpse,
across the floor,
remember when life thrived in our times,
Forced to leave,
without chance to grieve,
he came for us with guns and thieves.

Breaking the chain, making life harder
Growing up, things get tougher older
Waking up, lifes not made of butterflies
Stop looking at life asthough it worked from a childs eyes.

The End

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