Listen, children, to a story. That was written long ago. About a Kingdom on a mountain. And a valley folk down below. . On the mountain was a treasure.
Hey baby, are you sleeping?. There's something I think we oughta talk about. I can't put my finger on it, but honey. I know there's something wrong. .
It depends on who is looking at the tenement walls. Whether he's coming home or passing through. You can walk the streets and find so much to criticize.
They're tearing down the street. Where I grew up. Like pouring brandy. In a Dixie cup. . They're paving concrete. On a part of me. No crime for killing off.
Of all the things I've ever done. Finding you will prove to be the most important one. I would never trade the tears, the conversations no one hears. The learning how to walk before we run.