I stood wide eyed and blind in the firing squad's line,
Listening to their sing-song chatter and sweet soprano giggles.
I wasn't much of a singer, so I didn't pipe in
But I guess not harmonizing was a capital sin.
Boom -- "I hate her"
Bang -- "She's so weird"
"She must be retarded; I don't think she can hear"
The crimson red wounds bled through my cheeks
And pathetic, trembling me couldn't manage to speak.
Then every night as the sound of those bullet would ring
I wondered why I didn't have the freedom not to sing.