Churh bells ring I hear
as i kneel before the alter.
My tiny hands clasped together;
intertwined.
I pray for broken walls.
Those frills and curls my mother loves
should not be worn on a lion's gold.
For a lion's gold is beauty enough to
make the sun hide behind the moon;
ashamed and afraid.
Should my mothers arms so strong
and tight hold down a lion's might;
whinning like a new born kitten for
light its never seen. Should my
mothers words of fury denai the
lion's roar; loud and brave.
I pray for broken walls.
The golden feilds call out to me;
my name. She hopes to shut their
voices out with this wall so tall
around me. Though they don't
and the lion cries to them; freedom.
Should a lion's gold be drenched
in sorrow; cold.
I pray for broken walls.
To run with the lion; gold.
Two on four.
Paws against bare feet.
I'll run with her and not remember
the trapt bird she used to be.
I prey for broken walls.
The lion's roar to brake down them
that bind us; crumble.
And church bells ring....
And church bells ring....
