The Procussions - Little People (OST Blue Mountain State) "GOODSZILLA - YOUR RADIO" | Текст песни

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• The Procussions
• Little People (OST Blue Mountain State) "GOODSZILLA - YOUR RADIO"

Envision a prison of age
where the apparent disposition is out of apparent commision to live in a cage
To its a appearance where decisions are made
to not listen, and they got their fist in opposion to fair play
must be in your soliction of rage
you became a victim the same way
the system that gave way
inflictin the same pain
you convicted and cant blame
recondition your brain till you convince you cant change
understand and be wishin
family tradition wont end you in a position where you feel in the rein
lonely without a home, cause now your childs lone
wearin a milestone like its " ? "
cryin we all alone
hopin that god forgives you
wonderin if you get too
no one should have to live through
the violence that you been through
the fight thats still within you
its time to make things right and free the child that lives within you

*Chorus*
Hear me
See me
do you even know im still breathing?
I listen to the sounds of the tv
the only thing that really wants to reach me
Daddy listen
Mommy please
there must be a better way to raise me
i yell untill my ears cant heare me
into a silence that kills me

There billy stands at twenty below
grippin his coat that froze two hours ago
" ? "
7 year olds waitin
takes another look at a picture that lost time painted
put it away
i cant look at it
the truth stings a little when u look at it
we creatin a mold of bad habits
when the teacher got eleven year olds that blast at em
and the world tunes in just then
listenin to every word that he shoulda heard at age ten
that he wonders where it all began
he could call you a father
but couldnt really ever call you a friend
you work hard to provide a home for good livin
and you figured thats all you really had to give em now
if you dont know much know this
all work no play
"?" no miss

*Chorus*
Hear me
See me
do you even know im still breathing?
I listen to the sounds of the tv
the only thing that really wants to reach me
Daddy listen
Mommy please
there must be a better way to raise me
i yell untill my ears cant heare me
into a silence that kills

it was once said that the grass with wither and the flowers will fall down
and every man must pass when his number gets called
but when a child takes his life that type of logic dont work out
a flower never told to pluck its own petals out
and throughout all the tears
it gets so clear
that the son i held dear
i lost somewhere
between my work passion and a childs size casket
its hard to grasp when these dreams keep flashin
his cold foot hanging from a stainless steel table
and a white sheet stained with a mothers pain and grief
and every day i wipe the faces filling the pain
so another scape goat thats just filling the blame
what kind of man am i?
what kind of mother were you?
what kind of life did we subject a child too?
wishin i woulda listened
couldve probably seen whose prayin for salvation that a soul could sure use

*Chorus*
Hear me
See me
do you even know im still breathing?
I listen to the sounds of the tv
the only thing that really wants to reach me
Daddy listen
Mommy please
there must be a better way to raise me
i yell untill my ears cant heare me
into a silence that kills

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