There was a man and his eyes were red,
from all the tears to night he shed,
there was a man and he was quiet,
but in his soul he fought a riot.
There was many and he was small,
and despite his writings on the wall,
the world got on him.
Now he's dead.
No one bothered to make a call,
to ask him,
what is wrong?
No one wanted to hang along,
just use up. And fuck up.
When you think your hands are shaking,
they are.
Too deep.
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