Testo di Prostitute

There has to be more than this Is there no reason for me to exist But for as a plaything of miscreants, malingerers, dastards and knaves? How is it so A child can be bought for a year's worth of grain? In this day and age It's hard to explain, but it happens again and again I'll never forget the scene Where the freckled jowls contort across my father's face And disappear under the wheels of the cart Then the sky parts Pillar of rain It is my mother In another life If I ever had children of my own I'd cleave them to my breast And convey them far from this country of demons made flesh My last bedfellow is choked to the death on a dummy of puke I stole this horse, old speckled brown face From the royal tannery Haunches glossy with sweat We burst through the birch Turn our heads north With dawn in our lungs we reach the border