wisdom has many facesnhunting lights in their own riverbedsni often smell truth and sometimesnit doesn't smell good..nnwhy don't you hit me?na fist hurts for a bitnwas it for your own good?nor was it for mine?nnall these long years,nthese bloody tears went deeep down on my riverbednsmell truth and sometimesnit doesn't smell good..nnwhy don't you hit me?na fist hurts for a bitnwas it for your own good?nor was it for mine?nnwhy don't you hit me?