It's little strange how assumptions are formed...
The child walks with me, they think she's my kid..
That friend who shops with me, they think he's my man..
I am left to wonder how would that be...
To have a kid, to have a man...
To walk around in his arms...
To feel my own...
The child walks with me, they think she's my kid..
That friend who shops with me, they think he's my man..
I am left to wonder how would that be...
To have a kid, to have a man...
To walk around in his arms...
To feel my own...
No comments:
Post a Comment