born on the southside, you live alone four walls and a roof but's always cold look out the window and there is nothing to see but, a riot torn city and the death of your country and your chilled to the bone with no possessions to call your own yet you control your rage and you resist the crime because your the next in line
Out the back door and to corner store all you want is a drink and nothing more sit on the stoop and let the liquor soothe your pcide before you go inside you in cut in front and now your the next in line you never thought you'd lead a life of crime
freedom's the only thing you need but the truth is something few understand and an unwelcome reality now it's dark and black and sad and gone you express and repress the thing gone wrong and you want to be the man who ran away and you wish you could back to yesterday now he's in her room and he's about to lie so you pull the gun and squeeze the trigger and let the bullets fly...

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