boo-hoo, little boy,
your hair is muddy and streaked with blood.
cut your skin and bruise your cheeks
that head of yours is empty anyway.
back and forth and back and forth
backpack straps as purple as your knees
from your only friend or climbing trees?
boo-hoo, little boy, respect your elders
look at the light and swing on the bar
nobody can stop you now, little boy
go on your thirsty rampage and let them stare
would it really matter if your soul was rotten?
no one would even care.
six feet under the blinding bloom
but your eyes unseeing and your nose green
your games are old and your tricks long known
put away the pencil, no one would even see
boo-hoo, little boy, so they stop and stare
jacket's a little heavy, fall looming in the air
quick hand, loud voice, shattering glare
perfume to strong in these streets
lie, lie, all you ever do is lie,
your soul's a raisin, black and wrinkled,
so don't expect your mind to make you feel kind.