Fighting All The Fires

Mother’s working in the garden, she is planting things.
She came home crying when she lost her wedding ring.
Holding up her hands I could see the scars from where she has bled,
fighting all the thistles so their souls could be fed.

Father delivers papers so that I could have some shoes,
but I was living on the highways as he delivered the news.
I came home and found him tending to the land
pulling out the thistles while mother rest her hands.

I bless my younger brother but I think he is cursed.
We been fighting all the fires but I think I was burned worse.
Still have twenty four months hard time
because of an exaggerated crime.

Fighting All The Fires

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