The gunman is a friend.
He was born in this street
He played in our arms
We saw him bawl and grow
Feel the pain of being alive
We turned our heads on time
To ignore the early signs
"Oye boy! Get outta here."
Let him live in fear
He's a problem, not mine.
He'll do just fine.
If not, we can always say
The gunman is no friend,
Just another headline.