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Bắt đầu làm bài nào

In the shit a shotgun
Praying hands me down
Only the was hunted
In this tin can
Tin can

No stars in the night
Looks the sky fell down
No sun in the
Looks like it's chained to the
to the ground
The warden
The is sold
If you a way out
and gold

Broken to the ceiling
nose to the floor
I at the silence, it's crawling
It crawls the door
a rope around my neck
And there's a trigger in gun
Jesus say
I am someone, I am
I am

Captain and
In the hold
came to collect
Silver and
and gold

Seen the coming and
Seen them captains and the
See them blue uniforms
See bright and shiny things
Bright things

The is rising
The white hot
Mister, I got nothing
But it's than you got

no longer bind me
Not the at my feet
Outside are the
the free
Set free
Set free

A prize in a corner is told
Hit where it
and gold
Silver and

Yep, and gold
This was written in a hotel room in New York city
'Round about the time a or ours, little Steven,
Was putting together a of artists against apartheid
This is a written about a man
In a shanty town outside of
A man who's of looking down
The of white South Africa
A man who is at the
Where he is ready to up arms against his oppressor
A man who has lost in the peacemakers of the west
they argue and while they fail to support a man
Like bishop Tutu and his for economic sanctions
Against South