• These are my streets.
    This is my life.
    Stabbed in the back with a homemade knife

    Footsteps on the concrete, sounds of life in my ears.
    Sounds that ignite and re-fuel my fears.

    Jump over a fence, hop over a wall.
    "Out of my garden!", the angry voice, it calls.

    I'm not a rebel, fighting for a cause,
    I'm just some punk kid, didthatmakeyoupause?

    Or do you think I'm crying out for attention,
    labeled in a file entitled "Causes and Prevention."

    Keys in the brass, opening the lock,
    me Da's drunk again, the overweight c**k.

    Up to my room, hearing the abuse, head now thumping. Sanity loose.
    Time for the noose?


    Who the hell am I?
    Where is my abode?!
    I'm just that "Quiet kid."
    And I live down the road.