What I learned from my father….<\/p>\n
She was born in November 1963
\nThe day Aldous Huxley died
\nAnd her mama believed
\nThat every man could be free
\nSo her mama got high, high, high
\nAnd her daddy marched on Birmingham
\nSinging mighty protest songs
\nAnd he pictured all the places
\nThat he knew that she belonged
\nBut he failed and taught her young
\nThe only thing she’s need to carry on
\nHe taught her how to<\/p>\nRun baby run baby run baby run
\nBaby run<\/p>\nPast the arms of the familiar
\nAnd their talk of better days
\nTo the comfort of the strangers
\nSlipping out before they say
\nso long
\nBaby loves to run<\/p>\nShe counts out all her money
\nIn the taxi on the way to meet her plane
\nStares hopeful out the window
\nAt the workers fighting
\nThrough the pouring rain
\nShe’s searching through the stations
\nFor an unfamiliar song
\nAnd she’s pictures all the places
\nWhere she knows she still belongs
\nAnd she smiles the secret smile
\nBecause she knows exactly how
\nTo carry on<\/p>\nSo run baby run baby run baby run
\nBaby run<\/p>\nFrom the old familiar faces and
\nTheir old familiar ways
\nTo the comfort of the strangers
\nSlipping out before they say
\nSo long
\nBaby loves to run<\/p><\/blockquote>\n\n\n\n\n<\/div>\n\n<\/div>","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"What I learned from my father…. She was born in November 1963 The day Aldous Huxley died And her mama believed That every man could be free So her mama got high, high, high And her daddy marched on Birmingham … <\/p>\n