He never talked to anyone, he always walks alone,

The preacher says he's demonic, that nothing will save his soul,

So he ties a rope to a tree, and sadly knotts the end,

He loops the rope around his neck, praying for the end,

With sad and tearfilled eyes, he looks out at the world,

He lets out a sob of hurt, as he climb up the tree,

He finnaly is perched on the highest branch, he cries once again,

His mother left when he was young, his father is a bad drug,

No one cares he says out loud, and prepares to jump,

I care, a voice gently says,

The boy looks down to see, a pair of angel wings,

The angel smiles at the boy, softly taking his hands,

He removes the rope from his neck, and fly's back down again,

He took the boys hurt, he took the boys tears,

And gave them to his maker, who washed them to the purist white,

And then threw them up, into the night sky,