Tick tock, tick tock,
The clock goes.
A teen sits in the corner,
scared by the music that made him.
Scared by the people that saved him.
Scared by the helicopters that fly ahead,
searchlights prowling the streets,
for who committed the robbery.
Looking for your droogs and homies.
Where the uniforms is a wife beater and some denim.
Wanna promotion?
Go, commit a one-eight-seven.
Tick tock, tick tock.
It's eleven, and he's thirsty.
Walks to the druggies and trades some methamphetamine for a forty.
Knocks on the door and she,
doesn't answer.
So he goes,
into the garage and turns the key.
Tick tock, tick tock.
The engine starts.
Who knew he'd be so lonely?
He wonders like Alex DeLarge,
if his children will go through the same.
They'll have to go with the shame of having a shared last name.
Have to go through the pain of stolling through the 3rd grade,
getting,
pushed around and called lame.
Walking through the halls in 4th,
forced to take problems to the back of the class
and hash
it out
playing a good old fashion game of Knuckles.
In 5th they might have to see their best friend die right in front of their fucking eyes
and call 911 but are told to stand by because they just don't matter.
Breeze through their life with their ear phones blaring scared by the memories
of gang banging
set claiming
drug slanging
heavy drinking
incessent arguing
and eventual self pity.
He probably would have thought about this more.
But for the past 10 minutes he's been suffocating.
