March of the Barefooted
When Suns are young and we are born
Not needing shoes to kick the womb
A maze of mirrors, gates to the unknown
Erects us tall blinding hearts with hopes...
And we pretend we know the way
Although there are so many lefts
The rights are few, we change our shoes
The thickness of the Soul.?..depending on the distance...
"I close my eyes, my boots are tearing flesh alive
I have to walk and cry for miles and miles
There is no turning back, the lefts are few
Straight forward? Bullets... Upward? An eagle and the sky...
I fight a desert that's not mine to quench the thirst in few"
A maze of foggy mirrors shatters rhythmically in echoes...
And sons were young when blinded by uniforms and pride
Their stolen boots walk now eternally......for miles and miles....