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december 4th, 1969 |
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he was a boy wearing a red dress with yellow strings |
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hair neatly tied to the back, and his eyes were as weary as his Mary Janes |
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long long time ago he was a boy who loved to play with dolls and guns |
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but then he shot his father at a paddock for fun |
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he was confused between the difference of sex, loafing |
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no one ever knew why he became such a desaster |
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the people do not tolerate inconsistency, they said |
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how do we liberate the souls of a young mind |
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how do we get to tell the truth without hurting anyone |
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he had a bad allergy one year, gifting many scars to his body |
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he tried to cover it up by abusing himself violently |
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the world was waiting for him to change |
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but he said |
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the world was waiting for him to change |
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but he said |
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i will kill all those who wait |
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the world was waiting for him to change |
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but he said |
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the world was waiting for him to change |
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but he said |
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i will kill all those who wait |
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how do we liberate the souls of a young mind |
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how do we get to tell the truth without hurting anyone |
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how do we get these kids to kill the right people |
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how do we diminish the swelling narcissism of our kind |
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the winter frost bites on the piety of human race |
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along came the war along came the addict |
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then came this girl who touched his wounds and it made him heal it made him heal |
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i will kill all those who wait |
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he said |
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i will kill all those who wait |
