I write for the little bitches and bastards alive.

Who aren’t really bad, they just trying to get by.

Left by the first people who should have stuck around.

The parents who abused the heart without making a sound.

These children struggle every day trying to survive.

They do what they must with guns and knives.

It doesn’t matter to them who they hurt, they were not taught.

Alone they were left in cold so they fought.

For that little piece of salvation they know they deserve.

That those fucked up parents deprived them at birth.

They find that salvation in the brothers and sisters they pass.

They stick togeather just so they last.

They love and hate so intensely it hurts.

Wearing their pride on the sleeves of their shirts.

They are willing to give their life for their friends.

Or even to bring their enemies life to an end.

With a simple pull of a trigger it’s done.

Don’t even flinch from the boom of the gun.

Solid they stand togeather they fall.

If one dies so must all.

With each brother or sister they lose.

Their heart takes a beating its scarred and bruised.

They feel the only way to heal the pain.

Is to take some other brother or sister in vain.

Who only needed their parents to care.

Making their losses easier to bare.