She walks to grade school,
sack lunch in her hand;
Dressed in old, tattered clothes,
that a Flea Market had.
~
She hangs her head low,
don't want them to see;
The bruise 'neath her eye,
which is now blue and green.
~
Her shoes do not fit,
they're too large for her feet;
So she stumbles along,
then falls to her feet.
~
Since her lunch yesterday,
she's had nothing to eat;
She sheds a small tear,
which runs down her cheek.
~
Children pass by her,
they point as they laugh;
And under her breath,
she lets out a gasp.
~
She despises those bullies,
for the things that they do;
So she quickly runs home,
grabs a gun from Dad's room.
~
She rushes to school,
she'll make them all pay;
So she guns down nine children,
uncontained is her rage.
~
A teacher subdues her,
wrestles her to the ground;
Her killing spree's over,
yet she makes not a sound.
~
Nine children lay dead,
everyone is in shock;
They all learned a lesson,
No one's to be mocked!
