the Prototype

I made us a home, From what was once a prison. So if you share my vision, Thank me, dear, for paradise. And in the hour of joy, Don’t bite the hand that feeds you, child. Or do I have to fix you? ‘Cuz once I do, you’ll never die. I can make you better, I can make you right. Maybe now, you’ll see reason from the wrong side out. (A child’s what they, child’s what they, child’s what they made you. A child’s what they, child’s what they, child’s what they made you.)