It's been fourteen years since the fire in my eyes started to ignite.
Everyday is a different battles that I have to fight.
Words are the guns that would **** me if used right.

'Lil ol me would never put up a fight.
So of a sand bag taking punches,
Every punch being taken rips the bag , letting presious sand flow out.

Being a new solider in war where veterans surround and judge your every move,
will constantly break you down.
Pushed around for not knowing better.
To be used until your no longer useful.

Sooner or later the fire burning in my eyes, will die out.
My will is what keeps it alive, but once it runs out
You'll never hear a sound escape from my mouth.