I'm Going Mad

It feels like hammers on my head,
They'll surely beat me 'till I'm dead,
I shouldn't struggle,
They're doing me a favour,

Cut my forehead,
Just to make me bleed a bit too much,
Make me look like a victim,

Let me go home, cry,
Relive it two or three times,
And listen to the slowly moving chimes,

"He's undressing in that bathroom stall,
In the lockerroom," that's all,
I heard him say,

"Let me give him a peek,"
The man replied,
I blacked out,
I thought for sure I'd died,

I woke up with the feeling,
Of missing an organ or two,
In a bath of ice,
Forty feet away,

I was victimised,
I was ostracised,
I was pushed around,
I was pushed too far,

Now I've broken loose,
Now I've trained too hard,
To forfeit so soon,

Now I'm crazy,
I'm delirious,
And the sight of blood,
It's hilarious,

And with my father's 45 clutched in one hand,
And a fourteen-inch knife in the other,
I will make sure everyone who made me spill blood,
Will also suffer,

And I know that I'll be caught,
Before I'm even finished,
So I'm kicking in the doors,
And leaving none alive,

But I'll let them take me off,
Once I've crossed out every name,
On my list,

And I'll surely rot in prison,
For what I've done to-day,
And I'll take another life there, as well.