The Same Son 歌词

	作曲 : Flynn, Have Heart
	Sisters starving, brothers begging,
	Mothers mourning, fathers folding
	When I look into the mirror I see:
	A boy not a man,
	The son of a father I refuse to understand,
	The “brother” of a brother like a wound I neglect,
	The coward of a sister with the world I forget,
	The prodigal son, but I am yet to return
	From a siege where I take refuge but want to watch burn,
	Your lover, your companion, your champion, your friend,
	Forever by your side but not in the end,
	The fortunate son who dwells in the city
	With the poorest of the poor, still, I ask for your pity.
	And while theres a man who sleeps on, the ice-cold streets,
	His godsend not in me, but in his cardboard: his sheets
	Yet
	I still see the same son.

	zuo qu : Flynn, Have Heart
	Sisters starving, brothers begging,
	Mothers mourning, fathers folding
	When I look into the mirror I see:
	A boy not a man,
	The son of a father I refuse to understand,
	The " brother" of a brother like a wound I neglect,
	The coward of a sister with the world I forget,
	The prodigal son, but I am yet to return
	From a siege where I take refuge but want to watch burn,
	Your lover, your companion, your champion, your friend,
	Forever by your side but not in the end,
	The fortunate son who dwells in the city
	With the poorest of the poor, still, I ask for your pity.
	And while theres a man who sleeps on, the icecold streets,
	His godsend not in me, but in his cardboard: his sheets
	Yet
	I still see the same son.

	zuò qǔ : Flynn, Have Heart
	Sisters starving, brothers begging,
	Mothers mourning, fathers folding
	When I look into the mirror I see:
	A boy not a man,
	The son of a father I refuse to understand,
	The " brother" of a brother like a wound I neglect,
	The coward of a sister with the world I forget,
	The prodigal son, but I am yet to return
	From a siege where I take refuge but want to watch burn,
	Your lover, your companion, your champion, your friend,
	Forever by your side but not in the end,
	The fortunate son who dwells in the city
	With the poorest of the poor, still, I ask for your pity.
	And while theres a man who sleeps on, the icecold streets,
	His godsend not in me, but in his cardboard: his sheets
	Yet
	I still see the same son.

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