It seems like everyday.
Is the always the same.
And it seems like it won't ever change.
On top of all that.
When I dream my childhood comes back.
Memories of my mommy drinking again.
Makes me feel like I did then.
Nothing I could do.
All the hell that I had to go through.
Now the scars aren't something you can see.
But don't feel sorry, for me.
For me.
Dreams haunt me every other night.
Reminds me of the fact that I can't do anything right.
You used to beat me for no apparent reason.
You used to hit me for your treason.
Someone said something.
Anything.
And you hit me.
But don't feel sorry, for me.
I prayed to god everynight.
I prayed that maybe I could do something right.
Why would you do that to your only son.
When the cops heard about it, nothing was done.
I'm sorry I'm not the son you want.
But I did the best that I got.
I couldn't do much.
And for that you never showed me much love.
You abuse was my correction.
And still I turned to you for protection.
My fault on that one.
That doesn't change the fact that I was your son.
The walls painted with my blood.
Just because.
He was drunk and you were to.
Another beating is what I went through.
As I wash my blood off the walls.
Walk silently through our halls.
I wait for another day to pass.
I sit and watch life through the window glass.
Rainy days, my lost cause.
Sunny days, my open flaws.
I only wanted to be a little kid.
I won't ever forget what it is that you did.
Nobody was there.
You didn't care.
I wish you would have killed me, so I wouldn't have to.
All from that life you put me through.
Your anger and my blood.
My blood and your anger.
I look back and it gets that much stranger.
Some mother you were.
My childhood is a blur.
I block it all out now.
And you wonder how.
It's easy denial is my weapon of choice.
All because you couldn't hear my voice.
The voice of your four year old son.
The faint voice of a negetive one...
