The Child Inside
By Mad Jack
The propellers turned Five days had passed Of the child inside Had he seen the last A child of five No thought of life's meaning While his young heart For his homeland was keening Hands on the clock turned As the years swept past The shadow of the child Was rarely cast Don't sit there and wonder Why he plays the game He's seeking the child Not fortune and fame Happy at last Cherishing every day Sometimes the child inside Comes out to play Written January 2nd, 2002 © on Jan 02 2002 05:18 AM PST 18 • 0 • 12
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"The propellers turned..."