Locked up and

My father never taught me right from wrong.

My mother cries in the night should we all die young.

 When Angels walk the streets and there-are candles in the windows were do we stand.

 Well father I found religion somewhere behind theses bars I found your love through glass and a phone I won't be coming home so stop counting the days.

 I can't find myself in this place I see I can't find myself in the mirror that I gaze.

 I taste the salt in tears and in these hands I pray o these heathens cries that never seem to light my days O theses heathens cries that make Angels prayer.

Have I broken your will in this am I astray have I broken your trust how I want for change.

 because I've been seeing Angels walking the streets and theres candles in the windows where do we stand.