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lyrics

The child of the child is making me smile, she's learning to dance, devoid of a style. Stick it near the vein now, hold me until I am out of reach, strap me to an other than I can inscribe with.

Inspect the ruins; A child is born, I could have sworn.

The child of the child, scratching sores that were blind, she's learning to dance, devoid of a style. Wrote it down in the hope we'd find another.

I think of ruins, and clothes I've worn.

It's therapy to scream in the face of broken dreams, but when you were stuck up in that tower, did your seconds seem too clean?

credits

from Born to Hustle Roses Down the Alleys of the Dead, released January 1, 2002

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Knaw Brisbane, Australia

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