Thirty years later,
I still pay for that old man's sin
The color of my skin a curse
My name tossed around, as if I were an exotic pet.
The mother of a terrorist
The daughter of a man who ran away.
Thirty years later,
I still pay for that old man's sin
The color of my skin a curse
My name tossed around, as if I were an exotic pet.
The mother of a terrorist
The daughter of a man who ran away.