What can I do?. How can I show you,. And let you see,. That I am someone,. That you want me to be.. . I'm only me,. Not someone better,. Not someone good..
What can I do?. How can I show you,. And let you see,. That I am someone,. That you want me to be.. . I'm only me,. Not someone better,. Not someone good..
The angels were singing a sad country song. It sounded like something of yours. With a conscience as clear as the tear in your eye. And a heart beaten golden and pure.
The gloves are off, it's time to kill. Despite the body count ensued. Flowers and bodies pile up in ash and memory. While your freedom is raped by gunfire.
There's a high speed chase on a freeway. While an old man pushes a broom. There's a young boy sleepin', a window weepin'. And an artist paintin' a tune.