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SOFT HANDS, ROUGH FACES
Did I aid and abet when loving the cruel
If I thought my love could heal them truly?
They say birds of a feather tend to flock together
And that you are the company you keep
But better together than alone through the weather
When that comfort was the only I had known
And when born with a blade attached to the rib
An iron crib feels more like a throne
If I thought my love could heal them truly?
They say birds of a feather tend to flock together
And that you are the company you keep
But better together than alone through the weather
When that comfort was the only I had known
And when born with a blade attached to the rib
An iron crib feels more like a throne
I did seek out silver spoons to feed
I lost patience and I found a rusted knife
But at the time it could keep my hands nice
So the flawed utensil, to me, felt plenty fine
But when the knife's rust poisoned my soul
I realized then the need of the spoon
I thought I was strong- as I had cursed my own mom
Only in the thick could I see I wasn't immune
I lost patience and I found a rusted knife
But at the time it could keep my hands nice
So the flawed utensil, to me, felt plenty fine
But when the knife's rust poisoned my soul
I realized then the need of the spoon
I thought I was strong- as I had cursed my own mom
Only in the thick could I see I wasn't immune
So judge me you can for my soft hand to rough faces
Paint me a villain for my former relations
But before you bestow upon me your disgraces
Consider first the life that you've known
Pay me a visit in beaten down places
Take your rigid breaths and count out my same paces
Then, and only then, may I pay any mind
To your brazen, unbidden observation
Paint me a villain for my former relations
But before you bestow upon me your disgraces
Consider first the life that you've known
Pay me a visit in beaten down places
Take your rigid breaths and count out my same paces
Then, and only then, may I pay any mind
To your brazen, unbidden observation