Running for the hills Running for his life Like three blind mice from a butcher's knife Each and every night
Haunting sights from childhood eyes To Dali ladscapes running wild The memories dreams can find
He protects his bones with sticks and stones But who can fight The thoughts that bruise the mind
Throwing punches in his sleep He's paralyzed from fist to feet Shaking in his sheets
In broken words he tries to speak His tongue tied in straightjacket sleeves Silence drowns his screams
He protects his bones with sticks and stones But who can fight The thoughts that bruise the mindTeksty umieszczone na naszej stronie są własnością wytwórni, wykonawców, osób mających do nich prawa.
