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A little boy sits on his chair,
all day they gazed and stared.
Can t afford contact lenses,
glasses, bottom of the ashtray, standing brave as some other boys took of his pants.
This boy s been played out and tortured
yet nobody finds this any awkward.
Isn t sure what he s been required and all this makes him tired.
He s about to jump of the cliff,
thinks, that will be brief.
Frighten, insecure, call out his mom
and screams from the top of his lungs,
living ain t any fun.
There are girls on a playground sittin on their swings,
and they ll be there until it rings.
Behind them a fat girl s waiting for her turn
that will never come till the sun out burn.
As she smiles, big teeth and dimples, but too plain and simple.
They are calling her names,
she s quite ashamed,
she s out of their frames,
like this is some kind of game.
She s about to take a pills
to take off the guilt she feels,
as she screams from the top of her lungs,
loaded with dirt, as a gun.
There s a housewife, lies on her bed,
with bruise on her face she cried out.
Waiting for her husband, wearing red,
her lips are sealed, closed are her mouth.
Her fear is bigger as he opens the door,
what s it gonna be this time,
he ll break me a jaw, call me a whore.
No one sees this as a crime.
She restless inside, searching for choice,
is it gonna be a divorce…?
She s mute and numb
screaming from the top of her lungs.
There s a man who s son is been shot.
He s searching for something and doesn t know what.
Haunted by his picture of youth,
hoping there s more justice and truth.
Finding life can t be rearranged, for the world has been badly changed.
There are more lines I should dedicate to this guy but I ll do that when he
finds the answers why.
Those are our heroes
a boy that s mine,
a girl that s been me,
a wife that s been crucified
and father and the son rest in peace.
Those are our trembling souls
on a distant roads,
kneeling down the life
straightening us up.
We are their banished ghosts,
life brings them blank rivers as their hosts.
We re occupied with presence of a silence.
Nobody tell s, nobody would dare,
it would sound like we swear.
They are heroes of our time, we pray for before we dine.
Selected to be neglected.
Head s up, we move on
for each one of them,
to us,
belongs.
angel saviour
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