POW!
(That's somebody's son)
POW!
(That's somebody's son)
Gun smoke dissipates in the air
Blood puddles transforming to ice
Crowds gather at the injustice there
As an innocent soul drifts from pavement to paradise
The one who froze the boy has not a care
Even with a hundred fingers pointing his way
He dares to blame the dead for dying there
Claiming if he were not guilty, why didn't he stay
Why run?
(Never-mind his loaded gun)
Why run?
(Never-mind his loaded gun)
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem