The Procussions - Little People lyrics

(Mr J Medeiros) Envision the prison of age where the apparent disposition is that of a parrot commissioned to live in a cage who hits the parents when decisions are made to not listen and they got their fist in opposition to fair play must be in your submission to rage you became a victim the same way the system done gave way inflicting the same pain your convicted and cant blame recondition your brain till your convinced you can change understandably wishin family tradition wont land you in a position where you feelin the rain lonely without a home, cus now your childs grown wearing a milestone like its the only tie you own crying when your alone hoping that God forgives you, wondering if your kids do no one should have to live through the violence that you been through the fight that's still within you its time to make things right and free the child that lives in you. (Hook) hear me...see me... do you even know i'm still breathing i listen to the sounds of a TV. the only thing that really wants to reach me daddy listen...mommy please... there must be a better way to raise me i'm yelling till my ears can't hear me into a silence that k**s me (Stro) there billy stands in twenty below gripping his coat that froze two hours ago dramatic i know, but cold ain't it, seven year olds waiting takes another look at a picture that lost time painted we say put it away i can't look at it the truth stings a little when you look at it we're creating a mold of bad habits when the teacher got eleven year olds that blast at 'em and the world tunes in just then listening to every word daddy should have heard at age ten then daddy wonders where it all began he could call you a father, but couldn't really ever call you a friend you worked hard to provide a home for good living and you figured, that's all that you really had to give 'em now, if you don't know much know this all work, no play, far cry, near miss (Hook) (Rez) it was once said that the gra** will weather and the flower will fall down and every man must pa** when his number gets called but when a child takes his life that type of logic don't work out a flower never chose to pluck its own pedals out and through out of the tears it gets so clear that the son i held dear i lost somewhere between my work pa**ion and a child size casket it's hard to grasp when these dreams keep flashing his cold foot hanging from a stainless steel table and a white sheet stain with a mothers pain a grief and every day i wake to face this feeling of pain so i milk the scapegoat to easy this feeling of blame thinking what kind of man am i? what kind of mother were you? what kind of life did we subject our child to? wishing i would have listened i would have probably seen clues praying for salvation that his soul could sure use (Hook)