Father's hands are lined with dirt. From long days in the field. Mother's hands are serving meals. In a cafe on Main Street. With mouths to feed. Just trying to keep clothing on our backs.
Children all have saviors. Children don't care who saves us. Round the corner, round the bend. Fingernails torn to the end. Bring back, bring back. Bring back, bring back on me.
Baby's born on a bathroom floor. Her mother prays that it'll never cry. But nothing's wrong, you've got your prom dress on. When they ask you'll say 'it isn't mine'.
You'll be a wolf devoured by a lion. Cause you look like a lamb. But baptized in fire. Fearing yet hoping the best. Has swallowed you asleep once again.