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錯誤回報

Somewhere in the world my brother is sleeping
He lies in a pile of wasted youth
And I wake to the sound of my mother's weeping
Nobody seems to know the truth
Now in through the window the morning light
All of my nightmares it's breaking through
Here in the suburbs the dogs will bite
A job that their masters are loathe to do
Each morning I rise from this bed of nails
To tend to the children got work to do
The rains coming down in buckets and pails
But somehow it seems to fit the mood