He cries softly and wonders why
He is alone and loved by no one
Who would care if he were to die
So the child paces around the room
Thinking about the love of his gun
And the abuse that led to his doom
His new caretakers have just begun
To play their games of madness
And he doesn't have much ammunition
How will he overcome this sadness
With gun to his head in final admonition
He pulls the trigger and frees his mind
But the gun is just a picture of his kin
They gave him to creatures of the grind
So I burned the pic with the will of a grin
No comments:
Post a Comment