What you see in me is a little, blond, happy kid.
People see my life as a flick of a fruit fly.
That’s the way a seven year-olds life should be.

But let me tell you something.
I’m not a little, blond, happy kid.
I’m a sinking ship with no rescue.
I’m a little rock being thrown on the ground,
someone careless of throwing it.

What you all must recognize, is that you’re the gun.
It starts off with one word.
What fires out of your mouths will go right through me.

There are some who care, but
no one seems to look close enough at the picture.
Everyone still doesn’t recognize
that I’m not a little, blond, happy kid.

Here’s some advice, dig deeper.
Otherwise, you’ll never know the truth.
Everything will be a lie.
Because words do kill.