J A G

Come on and do it
make a martyr outta me
Come on and do it
you know these aching parts of me
These wrists that long for syringes and poison razor blades
This skull aches for cold steel and my soul pines for the grave
Parents hate your children throw them to the wolves
Chew them up and spit em were all cannibals
Feeding on the young to keep yourselves alive
Is it any wonder we choose suicide
Come on and do it
Make a martyr outta me
Come on and do it
You know these aching parts are
up writing for days and my arms are weak
Sustenance is cigarettes and bags of tweak
Haven’t spoke for days but my brain wont stop
Got a million journals to contain my thoughts
I cut my hand off to put this pen down
Id tear my throat up to get these word out
For every loving child that is taught to hate
Lord hear our prayer
For every lost soul resigned to their fate
Lord hear our prayer
Purgatory is closed they left no lights on
Lord hear our prayer
This ones for my nephew John
Lord hear our prayer
Come on and do it…