I don't understand why the innocent must pay for the treacherous ways
Why they must be cut down like trees without ever getting a say
Constantly being picked at as if they are the turkey on thanksgiving day
The only difference is they don't get a silver tray
No,their trays are where ever they finally collapse from the pressure
Maybe they'd get lucky and fall in bed of roses
Like it would make difference anyways;
Still the carving knives would be feet that trample upon them,
And the forks would be fist that lay waste to their remains
Their tears would be flavor that was locked in their tender meat
As they curl up in ball trying to lessin the pain
The pain,the endless nightmare they deal with every single day
That is the toll they must pay
Waiting for their bodies to finally decay
Until then they are a mp3 stuck on replay
Living the same life over and over again
Some days the pain is actually worse;
The bleeding scare tissue never really goes away
It is just reopened wider everyday
At times it gets so bad they just lay
As they stare at the clouds that pass by
Smiling begging them to stay,
But no they always go away
That is when the blade comes into play
Finally they would close their eyes and began to pray
Look the other way and just say
"So the treacherous finally got their way¨