The boy, he was shy, and he was strange. We don't know where he came from. He does not speak. He stays for a while, but then he goes. There Is a big fuss, loud cars with bright lights, a sad face at each turn. Lots of words I hear, words like; sad, wrong, poor soul, why would he have done this? I start to get it. He was picked on, made fun of. He was hurt. He must have been so sad. He must not have known what to do. He took his own life.
This boy, this boy that was so sad. This boy that was so sad that he took his own life. This boy could have been at ease, could have had friends, but he had none. He only had foes, those who made him cry, the ones that made him sad, the ones who did not help. This is wrong. This should not be, but it is. It is wrong that this boy died, he died at the price of a good laugh. It is sad, it is wrong. Once the big fuss is all done, the boy dies. No one speaks of the boy. His foes, they speak less and they are kind. No one speaks of the boy, but we all know. We all know what he did and why he did it. We are all kind now. If we had been kind from the start, we could have saved a life.