You would think they could see
That these actions are not me
That these situations are dictated by a life
Spent standing on an edge that comes to a point smaller than that of a knife

But instead they point fingers
They resort to anger and frustration because they can never understand
That these burdens shouldn’t be placed
On the shoulders of a singular man

That this world doesn’t care,
The color of your skin or the style of your hair
These things don’t dictate your sorrows or your pain
They don’t decide whether or not you’re left standing in the rain

It’s the actions of you and those around you
That strip you of your pride
It’s the fighting, the hatred amongst each other
That leaves you with no place left to hide

It’s the fear inside a person that gives them the drive
To abandon those who need their help most
And leave them standing, feeling nowhere near alive