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Freeshine
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To Kill a Child
'Do you ever get, I don't know
frightened by
I use this word because it's
It applies to me by
the systems that
I mean this, in a sense
I don't know, could be better worded
This, in a sense, you know, is a system
When, when you realise that
the criticisms that you're using on
have been put into you, you know, sort of
conditioned, or whatever
But, but when you realise more and more what it is
that controls all the systems that
you know, system upon system, sort of
Working your way through one into another
and to another
Does this really bother you, or even frighten you?
The feeling that you'll never be free
That you'll always be a prisoner?
But, maybe you don't have that feeling?'
'Yeah, I do!'
Near the three city mountains
In the last one of those
Little boy Peter rides his bike in the snow
On the curly, curly road
Tongue out and head in the air
Peter's mom's daughter
left at early from home
Now she's smiling
on her way back to her family town
The skin of the car
match her dress and her tiny white shoes
Born in dad's garage
the bike's a wonder machine
In summer as winter
In any weather you've seen
Peter pedals with his eyes closed
Ploughing all corners and cuts
A little bit of anxiousness
intruded the car
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'What does mommy think of me?
Ten years seems so far!'
She ponders in the mirror
Looking out for the right left turn
We're porcelain in our prophecy's mare
Asking what a puppet longs to hear
We're cracking and we never get near
The answer every puppet longs to hear
'Now tell me, where's my puppeteer?'
Halfway down the hill
Peter stops by dad's feet
'Hey boy, it's time you steer home
Mom's waiting to eat!'
'Oh, please dad, just one more round
I'll be home before you can say chicken soup!'
This is the last smoke
just to get the tango of nerves
Her chimney is puffing
hitting hard on the curves
A minute from stopping
but you know what she'll do anyhow
'Cause you are the eyes of the cross
Speaking your sight
'I see a biker on the left
A car on the right!'
A mark in the middle
You can see they are both aiming to
We're porcelain in our prophecy's mare
Asking what a puppet wants to hear
We're cracking and we never get near
The answer every puppet longs to hear
The second
then starts again
I'm afraid this is how dark shines
And the boy is dying
Now awake
Now awake
Now awake
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