| Sunday, spatter on the pane
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| Sat up on the bus in my usual place
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| It’s gone late, I’m holding takeaway
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| Glad to see the back of another day
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| From the back come a sound, turn and look around, hostile eyes meet mine
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| Can’t be more than nine, all alone at night, no soul in sight
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| Through the eyes of a child, all the smallest life is fully grown
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| All the world is far away from home
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| I look away and stare across the rain
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| The streetlight on the lane
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| I got no right to complain
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| My life, was pleasure with the pain
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| A grounding off my dad doesn’t seem so bad
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| Bless the rough little boy growing up too fast
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| Now the dice been cast
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| What a bundle of joy, haunted from the past
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| These ghosts live on
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| Through the eyes of a child, all the smallest life is fully grown
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| All the world is far away from home
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| Through the eyes of a child all the sights are traced into the bone
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| One day he’ll have children of this own
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| Through the eyes of a child, pathways passed on like precious stones
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| Through the eyes of a child |