Why?
I watch them look at me,
Smiling, laughing,
At I,
Who did not do anything,
I look back at them,
With my blood shot eyes,
I look at that dirt under my feet,
Standing in front of me,
That dirt,
That same dirt I was tortured in,
In that dirt I watch them die, suffer, cry,
Just like they watched me,
After that,
I get down on my knees,
Looking at that dirt crying,
That dirt that tore me apart,
For hating that dirt I blame myself,
Why?
Why did it have to be me,
Who hated that dirt,
But,
Then feel sorried for that same dirt,
Why?