Sweet child o'mine.

She's got eyes of the bluest skies,

as id ther thought of rain.
 

I hate to look into those eyes,
and see an ounce of pain.

Her hair reminds me,
of a war safe place,

here as a child i'd hide.
 

And pray for the thunder,
and the rain,
to quietly pass me by. 

Guns n'Roses.