Writing, transcribing life
Marking your passage with a knife forcefully pushed over each of your wounds
Looking with burning eyes
While a day rises or shatters
Being told shit, stop, stop, stop
From doing what you do
From saying what you want
You should never judge anyone
If you don't live their shit
If you don't know that blisters have grown on the heels and for the road walked
That every meter of success has a high price

We are in the middle
Between a start and a goal that has shattered
We are bodies in asbestos
Compared to you piece of mud we are alive
Hungry and in fasting
We are nobody's children
We are nobody's children
We are nobody's children
Children children children children children
Children of depression in good and evil
Of hatred and anger towards every institutional form
Left to play among the sheep outside the house, alone
Children of fragile insecure and somewhat fickle mothers
Children of seven cold Peronis on Christmas Eve
Of recovery paths for teenage alcoholism
Of doors closed in the face
Of "we'll let you know"
Of clothes hung out at night while you repeat
That you're fed up

We are in the middle
Between the purity and the restlessness of a saint
We are bodies in asbestos
Compared to you piece of mud we are alive
And you are not appropriate
We are nobody's children
We are nobody's children
We are nobody's children

Better days will come
I let all those who don't know talk
Harder days
I don't break
My beauty comes from your contempt
We are in the middle
Between a start and a goal that has shattered
We are bodies in asbestos
Compared to you piece of mud, we are alive
Hungry and in fasting
We are nobody's children
We are nobody's children
We are nobody's children

We are nobody's children

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