Complex fusion of apathetic, synaptic confusion
Ratchet dread clamping
Angst for the panorama of direction
Anger of hypnotic heathenism
Flustered beyond social acceptance
And over again is it
There must be a way to see through
Little Child
Little childYou run in the streetI will crash my car Aware of the dangersOnly me in a sea of cars I hold you as you wiggleBut the cars pass People don't have the timeFor youLittle child You can't speakTo tell your storyBut to me little childYou are a pearl A black...
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