Skid Row
Pitti Dias
Skid Row is heaven, Skid Row is hell Skid Row is night Is the dream in black and white A flower is born on the gray wall By the hands of man Who cried for a long time But children no longer cry How paper become boats Or airplanes In the hands of the boys I was think that in your hands Would be good laws In some places the dawn Come to remind me How was yesterday The kites fly in the sky And fear the weak hands Of the children