Cliques.

Punk, Goth, Skater, Scene,
All of it's getting a little obscene.
All of these cliques,
two, four, six.
So many peps,
Not one of them seeps.
Outcasts, emos, and preps too,
In life we've all got to lose.
So why not get along now?
Maybe this wouldn't be so foul.
Jocks and the butterflies,
Oh, no one dare to cries.
Isn't this bad?
Isn't this sad?
The people you've known forever,
But none of them fit, not really, never.
When you get so many enemies,
You end up breaking.

And that's when everyone gets it taken out on them.

Everyday on the news,
It can give the blues,
School shootings,
Any kid getting the bootings.

The kid with the gun,
A brother, a son,
turn the gun on those who angered him,
The lights dim,
Only anger him more,
He only wanted some, he swore.
They hid and waited for him to be sedated.

As the kids filed past him,
He picked out the three he was after.
He was in handcuffs, but quickly drew the gun from a near-by officer's pocket, as they drew him down,
He let out three caps.
A shot was never missed.