The child of my heart

Isn’t like the others.

She is reckless and naïve,

She can hardly be trusted.

 

The child of my mind

Stands up straight

Wears a tie

And is always right.

Why cant the child of my heart

Be more like the child of my mind?

 

The children of my hands

Are generous and selfless.

They never take,

And never demand.

Why cant the child of my heart

Be more like the children of my hands?

 

I suppose the children of my feet

Are equally corrupt,

Because they always follow where she wants me to be,

That child of my heart.