Upon few gracefully treaded hilltops,
certain schoolboys on dreary rooftops roam,
looking upon a city filled with shops.
Searching through back alleyways for his home,
one stands alone in darkness tall and straight.
Wishing his dismal life was spent with others,
thinking how he rolled life's corrupted eight,
abandoned never seen his mother's
face, he taught himself everything he knows
sits in silence he never learned to cry.
the times that he tries to quietly doze,
he hears the shots and wakes, afraid to die.
smiles a mask for those around him to see
nobody sees us, our masks are our plea.