I shot him.

I was walking, minding my own,
A punk-ass bitch decides stealing would be a great idea.
He grabbed, he booked it on out of there.
I lost sight of him.

On later days, I drove by him,
The face was recognizable to me.
I stuck it out, I squeezed my finger,
I ended a life, left a body on the curb.

The white was back, the thing he stole,
Though I don't believe he knew it's power.
He was just a young man trying to eat.
But so was I.

I shot him.