My dad used to call us soldiers growing up
What is a soldier?
Someone who was born to fight
Some people are born in glasshouses and soft paradises
Others, not so lucky
And then there's us, the fighters
Those who get a taste of both heaven and hell
Paradise and poverty
And have fought to build their own bridge across realities
Underneath the polished clothes, and silk fabrics dipped in gold
Our hard nature still exists and at any point when the siren blows
We find ourselves, once again, standing at attention
They can never erase what's in our bones
We feel at home in the warzone
Paroles2Chansons dispose d’un accord de licence de paroles de chansons avec la Société des Editeurs et Auteurs de Musique (SEAM)
