Arrival
It must feel good to say at last
The ceiling is shattered
And the door is open
It must feel good
But I looking at the ceiling
Think of icy rains
Monitors on my feet instead of chains
Weevils dancing in the hoarded grains
And blind men wiping at dark blood stains
It must feel good at last to belong
To see your face on the totem pole
Hear the world sing your song
Muting the lyrics meaning about the cold
Copyright © David Smalling | Year Posted 2012
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