Hunted
Following my food home,
Hunting around for some real life,
Don't want to know where any fool knows
Nobody understands me,
Don't talk to me I can't see,
You're nailing my brain to a tree,
Why can't you just let me be.
If I wrote these words on paper,
You would strangle them in your hands,
Then sail on in your burning boats,
Into you promised land.
Autor(es): Paul Samson