Marching boy
Whipping boy
Toy soldier on an aeroplane,
You know I never knew just what to say
You said;
“Think til it makes you sick
It’ll hurt but you’ll get over it”.
Well I never stopped, filled to the top
And now I’m drinking every bitter thought
From a bottle or a head game, now
I’m slipping out of line; they tell me
Marching boy
Whipping boy
Back to the grind, don’t act so annoyed.
They know what’s best and tell me true
Is given in what they feed to you;
That I could work hard to be somebody else
And leave what’s wrong with me behind.  
The shepherds gave me everything,
Packed my bags with all the little things
That grew into what became my fears;
A burden heavy enough to break wings,
They called me.


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