Libertad, derecho y cariño al niño

Suffer Little Children
by The Smiths

Over the moor, take me to the moor

Dig a shallow grave

And I'll lay me down

Lesley-Anne, with your pretty white beads

Oh John, you'll never be a man

And you'll never see your home again

Oh Manchester, so much to answer forEdward, see those alluring lights ?Tonight will be your very last night

A woman said: "I know my son is dead. I'll never rest my hands on his sacred head"Hindley wakes and Hindley says :Hindley wakes, Hindley wakes, Hindley wakes, and says :"Oh, wherever he has gone, I have gone"But fresh lilaced moorland fields.Cannot hide the stolid stench of death.Fresh lilaced moorland fields.Cannot hide the stolid stench of death.Hindley wakes and says :Hindley wakes, Hindley wakes, Hindley wakes, and says :"Oh, whatever he has done, I have done"But this is no easy ride.For a child cries :"Oh, find me ... find me, nothing more.We are on a sullen misty moor.We may be dead and we may be gone.But we will be, we will be, we will be, right by your side.Until the day you die.This is no easy ride.We will haunt you when you laugh.Yes, you could say we're a team.You might sleepY.ou might sleep.You might sleep.

BUT YOU WILL NEVER DREAM !