The Progeny
The Progeny

1 min

256
Prayers won
A prodigal son
Joy and relief
Belied belief
Mild as mild
Wild as wild
Self styled
Destiny's child
Grew up quick
Nice and slick
Soft but firm
On his own terms
Wouldn't suck
By chance or luck
Wouldn't sit
And take bullshit
The world viewed
His attitude
As rough and naive
Fit to deprive
He stood his ground
Without a sound
No one dissolved
His massive resolve
His critics' silence
And their fall
Was not in violence
But in standing tall