I was raised in the valley, there was shadows and death.
Got out alive but with scars I can't forget.
This kid back in school, subdued and shy.
An orphan and a brother and unseen by most eyes.
I don't know what it was that made a piece of him die,
Took a boy to the forest, slaughtered him with a scythe.
Stamped on his face, an impression in the dirt.
Do you think the silence makes a good man convert?
We all have our horrors and our demons to fight.
But how can I win, when I'm paralyzed?
They crawl up on my bed, wrap their fingers round my throat.
Is this what I get for the choices that I made?