Look how my frown thrives, robbing the pureness from my brown eyes, wonder how smiles could soon compile in the down side, I survived!, but hurtful urge will soon defer, direction of my vision that was missing it's perfect purr, and now my sound, was a hissing of spitting rounds, I managed to take cover, saw my brother had hit the ground, a wicked sound, and when I found his frown would thrive, it made me picture prison, no precision in my brown eyes.