Tangled, charred, mangled, with death we dance. Our hearts are frozen with the distance. Our eyes are heavy but they won’t close. And we all wander not knowing which way to go.
Cuz we are children of circumstance. A product of happenstance.
Petticoats ruffle and eyebrows raise when we consider we live as slaves. And if we question what they decide we know we might as well have enjoyed the lies.
Cuz we are children of circumstance a product of happenstance oscillating this way and that we never even stood a chance.
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