They look at me with tearstained eyes,
Telling me it’ll be alright,
“I don’t understand” I scream.
As mother sits me down,
And puts her hand in mine,
“he’s dead” she finally says.

“no” I screamed, “how could he die?”
“Just last week he was alive.”
I rushed to his room which was right next to mine,
Where everything lay untouched the way he left it,
The day he left with all his friends.

“he’s dead” she says and says,
Not believing her own ears,
Her cheeks burn from the tears,
That fell across her face like iron rain,
As she admits the truth.
He’s gone, her brother’s not coming back,
Because he’s dead from the south’s gun.