| Dropped into this world from the beak of a stork.
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| No option to choose our home.
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| Those timid little eyes tell that she was caught by the hands of someone wrong.
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| Cause she should be in the arms that would keep her warm, not the ones that
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| would bruise her skin.
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| Cause she should be in the arms that would let her sore, not the ones that
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| would break her wings.
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| So shame on a father who raises a hand.
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| In grace of a daughter; |
| disgrace of a man.
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| A bruise disappears, but the memory will last.
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| So shame on a father who raises a hand.
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| Little mind in a house where fear is the hold.
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| Lines an unfair lottery.
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| The hell behind the scenes when the curtains close, is her reality.
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| And what could be so broken in a soul of a man?
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| Mistreated hearts break free.
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| Living by the guidance of the ghosts from the past.
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| Pain is what you breed.
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| So shame on a father who raises a hand.
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| In grace of a daughter; |
| Disgrace of a man.
|
| A bruise disappears, but the memory will last.
|
| So shame on a father who raises a hand.
|
| So shame on a father who raises a hand.
|
| In grace of a daughter; |
| Disgrace of a man.
|
| A bruise disappears, but the memory will last.
|
| So shame on a father who raises a hand.
|
| So shame on a father who raises a hand.
|
| In grace of a daughter; |
| Disgrace of a man.
|
| A bruise disappears, but the memory will last.
|
| So shame on a father who raises a hand.
|
| So shame on a father who raises a hand.
|
| In grace of a daughter; |
| Disgrace of a man.
|
| A bruise disappears, but the memory will last.
|
| So shame on a father who raises a hand. |