Done To Me

Mother, low that knife
I know why you strife
Father, low that gun
What you did with your own son

Full of unconscious hate
Blood stains and smoke
Dirty into this treason heart
What you make me a part

Is not your hand
I wanted to be hold
In from of you
The monster you behold

What to do with
All those scars and pain
If I am searching
Someone to blame


I've created defenses
My sharp blade
To cut you off
Of what I made