Violets In My Hand

<br>This is a story about a man<br>A short story about the violence in his hand<br>On automatic trigger<br>He ain`t used to taking shit<br>So no one`s giving it<br>And his ego`s getting bigger<br>He`s scarred by his own civil war<br>Hate – he hurts the ones he hates<br>He hurts the ones he loves and don`t care for<br>The reaper sleeps on his floor<br><br>Violence, violence in his hand<br><br>As a child he slept on rainy roofs<br>Safe from his father`s cloven hooves<br>And his mother`s eyes of fire<br>They never figured out what it all meant<br>The fear of descent<br>So, rising from the pyre and the smoke<br>Redeemingly soaked by the rain<br>To wash away the pain<br>To loosen up the strain upon his mind<br>He still keeps it inside<br><br>Violence, violence in his hands