2020.05.25.
The Lonely Child
Versions: #1You’re like a candle
That someone forgot to put out in an empty room
You shine among the dejected who want to snuff you out
The one who has the least toys
Gets the least love
The one who lets people shit on
His bruised heart, murderous is your jealousy
The lonely child does not trust anyone, not by choice but by resentment, in terms of friends
His shadow suffices
A loneliness that follows you 'til it comes to sex
My lyrics differentiate the lonely child into two species:
One that fucks excessively but would rather
Stick with one woman than a 1,000 asses
While the other kind often hears the same
Song at the post office and bears the grief of a
Dead relationship and remains with wet eyes
The lowered head leaves the heart on the stomach
Stomach on the knees, my sadness has no equal
Except that of the lonely child’s muted rant
That no one listened to
[Chorus](x3)
You're the lonely child
(I know it's you)
Are you from the lower rungs
Or the new neighborhoods?
Anyway, deep down it’s all the same suffering
My words are befitting, people see themselves in them
Like a puddle of water, my words mirror them like a sad reflection
But is it my fault?
You're the lonely child, it's not easy, we understand each other
Few know
That I know, you're surprised
He stares out the window at the loneliness eroding him
To sugarcoat the quinine like a sweetener
'We must be astute, we must break free,' they say
They don't discuss it further, they confuse rhyming with acting
Or running away with suicide, a pact, an ad campaign without ads
Barely a word, nobody has ascertained that filthy wish
The desire to let go with a dangling neck
To punish their parents who waited too long
To love their child, 'cause if love was a race
The child's birth would be the starting line, boredom
As a pastime makes for stupid parents
Nagging mastery, sentiments set in cement or else
In six years, I'll be found with scissors in my skull
In a puddle of blood
[Chorus](x3)
The lonely child is the silent nobody in the back of the class
The one who is laughed it, round like
Coluche, or the boss in the lobby among a massive
Group, the bone in the steak haché, stabbing
Anyone applying for his position
Since the street kids' tomfoolery often
Overshadows a child suffering in an emotional abyss
Growing up without a father is hard
Even if the mother perseveres
It helps, but not in finding one's bearings, that's for sure
Losing a mother is worse! Ask Pit, I assure you
You haven't fully grasped it, take away the sea from the Côte d'Azur
When these kids push away their suffering too
We all know no one truly heals from their childhood
Even a hairy torso cannot forget life as the
Child of a divorce thrashed around by his stepfather
The lonely child is you, them, him, her
Oxmo Puccino, a voice like honey