Little braids like horns,
this flesh born bone leaves sores.
Little horn is born, sworn to the blood
in all that implies after being on the frontlines
of the hidden genocide;
Time to turn the tide,
take the guize of a genocidal genius.
Feels like none of the people can see this.
Depletion with depletion,
seeking the solution,
but there are no easy answers,
for this classroom execution.
Born on a plane that is not the same as their mind,
I am the weak, the sick, the one left behind.
God damnit I'm sick of their kind!
Pieces of shit don't even know what they are;
in their little cliques, laughing and smiling with their friends,
passing judgement on everything they see-
I know they're laughing at me.

I am an angel in disguise,
sent to either be nurtured or denied.
I am an angel that fide, so as punished with this life.
My feathers have not changed,
I still blame god for making me this way.
That is my nature, the true test was for you
to nurture a soul you could see needed structure.
For all of your talk of tradition, you never taught acceptance;
of the benefits of being receptive.
Instead, you took my beauty as a commonality,
of a word you didn't hesitate to call me.

Reinforcing old war wounds, you made me legion.
Here to bring your ruin, and the changing of reason.
Trapped in this physical body, I can only see one way to be free.

I will change this fucked up world, by making sure everyone knows of me...