Broken bones and bleeding hearts;
You can't live like this.
This is when the thinking starts:
After you've been hit.
You deserved this, didn't you?
Yes, it must be right. . .
Because of all the things you do -
That's why they must fight.
If you'd only been a better kid,
You might not be here.
If you only hadn't gone and hid,
It might not be severe.
Breathing in, breathing out,
You're feeling now less pain.
Inside you hear them start to shout,
Outside you feel the rain.
Spread out on the uncut grass,
Arms out at your sides,
All these things will come to pass,
And it'll be all right.
Everything is softer, now,
The pain and ground alike,
And after all, you're thinking how
You'll make it through the night.
You close your eyes and think about
Going back to home.
You'll look strong and never pout,
And they'll leave you alone.
That's what you'll do then, you decide,
Besides, can't get much worse . . .
But then their faces, you will see
Forcoming of a curse.
The rain has soaked you through and through;
You should be in bed.
You're tired and you feel weak, too,
There's a hurting in your head.
Try sitting up - you just can't seem
To move either of your sides.
The dark's like night, without a gleam,
And now it's true. You've died.