Broken feet, run, stear me home
to where I'm mothers child.
I'm scared.
I'm 21, and I'm scared.
Scared of what?
Of being caved in,
Of comitting every possible sin
that I might be pinned,
and not even have time to defend
the truth that lies within.
We dont have much time
to follow all the signs,
and learn the right lines
so we may sing along on the radio.
But watch where you drive
or you may be deprived
the chance to be revived.
I'm scared.
I'm 21, and I'm scared.
Scared of what?
I'm scared of car crashes.
Of being hated with a dear passion.
Of being an outcast
because I have a specific fashion.
Walking around
hearing there thoughs out loud.
Now I know they have found
the right reason to make a profound sound.
Now I'm isolated, even in a huge crowd.
Broken feet, run, stear me home
to where I am mothers child,
and we'll watch the pale golden sunset
until angel wings may carry my dreams
and carry me to a...
safe,
sureal, sleep.