Bobby Fred

Alone,
Legs dangling of the edge,
It's little Bobby Fred,
Thoughts tearing through his head.

We won't let him touch us,
We won't even let him play,
Never thought we'd see the day when,
"Oh no he's run away"

Everybodys in a panic,
Little Bobby Fred's gone manic,
Sitting on the edge of the bridge,
Point is he just don't want to live.

Legs flailing wildly as he falls,
Down,
Down,
Down.

As he hit's the ground,
There is silence all around,
The thougth we never let him play,
Because he was strange in a way.

No he wasn't strange,
Yet we did not see him,
In the rigth way,
Did not get him.

Bobby was a great boy they said,
As his parents wept,
Everyone was there,
Though we never used to care.

Some people didn't understand,
Why little Bobby did that,
Sometimes we wan't to cry,
Though they say it's not our fault he died.

It is our fault that Bobby's dead,
That thougths were rushing through his head,
Laughing,Jeering,Sniggering,
Telling him to go away.

So
He
Did.