The Strain of life,
The love of strife,
The blood on a knife,

The pain inside,
the snore at amusement rides,
the will to think on our own and hide,

It is a life of pain,
It is a life of strain,
Unlike some others, your intentions are main,

Your are bred to live,
You are born to die,
You want to die? Well so do I,

Can this really be?
O I see what I think I see?
Is it real? Is it me?

Emotional pains and disbeliefs,
The hat of food except beef,
To think of peace and harmony?
What do you truly see?

These are jus some opinion about me from you,
But life to me,
Why, oh why can this be?

You live your life with love and compassion,
Everything I wear is black, that’s my fashion,
What is your love? Your passion?

Is there really such things as hope?
I don’t like my love,
I sit at home dealing with things to cope,
All of my “friends” have Strep Throat,

To me, life is lick this,
I don’t gave a crap what you want me to say,
I say what I say and keep it real,
It’s only just from the heart.