Bad Seed

I once met a guy when he was a boy
He was trying to ruin everybody's joy
A hand-grenade was then his favourite toy
Believe me this guy when he was alone
He would call you all day on the telephone
But nobody was afraid 'cause he was a boy

Now he's 25, doesn't care much, he misses his childhood
And everybody's touch
Little did he know he would be running out of luck

I remember the day, he had a pale face
Apparently someone had given him a taste of self – destruction culture
Or so they say

Now he's 25, he's afraid of the sun
He may have the bullets but he doesn't have a gun
It's pretty obvious that he's running out of fun



Credits
Writer(s): Juan Pablo Mazzola
Lyrics powered by www.musixmatch.com

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