CORRIGER LES PAROLES

Paroles : Prodigal

Two kinds of children, one Father
Two kinds of drought, but one water
Each mocking in our own way, scoffers
Each chasing down a different offer
Some of us write like we’re the author
Even though the jar is not the potter
Some of us are wild and we wander
Taking what we’re given with to squander
Everybody knows about the runner
Running in the fast lane, tryna feed his hunger
Gunning for his dad’s pay, racking up the numbers
Spending big til that day the money went under
He wonders living in the slums where he slumbers
Can the debt he collected be covered
But there is grace even down in the gutter
Thank God that he loves the younger brother

Home
I felt so far from home
I heard you call me home
When I felt alone
With all the debts I owed
You ran to bring me home