A Happy Childhood Cut Short

Riddled with guilt, riddled with bullets For crimes committed, societal crimes The fate of the unwashed masses grasped The Oliver Twisted twist of the sullied poor The man who never became a man but a boy The guilt of being born in the first place Weighs heavier than the bullets in their case Filth caked on flesh along the desperate mile All roads lead to one direction for the dirty Chance favors the objectivity in these matters Guns open fire on the ridiculous moment On the snatched body from the womb Rain comes to wash away the doomed To cover the mistake of birth in the first place A mistake, a person of less interest now Can rest at last below the willow tree What is left to sort out is the howling wind All actions have consequences All lead to an end without a friend To the haunted grave at castle town Below a tree that cries for no one A child without a name but reputation Alone with soil as his company for sure Sullied as it is and not much more