Woke up this morning
Back in ‘92
I was 8, what’s a boy
Supposed to do
With three hours alone
Each afternoon
And a pistol in the closet in
His parents’ room

Turned around, found myself
In ‘99
The day I tried to get out
What was on my mind
With a bullet
Through an exit wound
Onto the wall
In my parents’ room

I used to be a little boy
I ain’t doing nothing wrong
I’m sick and tired of people treating me this way
Forty-six and two just ahead of me

Felt the barrel
Between my teeth
Pulled the trigger hoping for
Sweet release
Heard a click and
Not a boom
Found myself still in
My parents’ room

Came to and only my
Fear was gone
Noticed I’d left my
Stereo on
Playing the saddest
Happy song