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Catapilla
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Tumbleweed
Sitting,
Cooking up a daydream about being
somebody's auntie.
Planning,
living out of fantasies of having
a child of your own.
And if the child had his mother's eyes
and his mother's nose,
he's got the same dimpled smile
as his grandad,
the way he rolls his eyeballs
when you call.
He's all the things that make life beautiful.
Talking,
seeing how somebody's boy just made it,
all by himself.
Got married,
wants himself an house and car,
got settled.
He's doing quite nicely.
And the little baby boy got his mother's eyes,
and her nose.
He's got the same dimpled smile
as his grandad,
the way he rolls his eyeballs
when you call.
He's all the things that make life beautiful.
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And the child got every chance,
of being somebody,
for his mother and his father and his uncles and his aunts
love him too.
Can't understand why you always
got something else to do,
and why he insists on staying in that way, them all.
But he's a man, he's not a little child
anymore,
He's got to live the way he feels the way he wants
the way he knows he can.
The people who look down
at the way he moves around,
and he grows,
those are the one who made him want his life, them all.
But he's a man, he's not a little child
anymore,
He's got to live the way he feels the way he wants
the way he knows he can.
The people who look down
at the way he moves around,
and he grows,
those are the one who made him want his life, them all.
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