The Children of the Mafia

The adrenaline flows,
as I run from everything
that I've ever known.
Its fight or flight
but now,
both aren't an option.

Youth and knives...
...were never a good concoction.

Fire burns brightly
as we run from the house.
Gunshots soar past us
were as quite as a mouse.
But we make it out fine
'cause were trained,
as children of the mafia.

We of elite few
or should we say,
unlucky few.
Born as weapons to fight
century old battles
and disappear into the night

If we fall,
fall together

If you die,
die alone

If you succeed,
return to station

If enemy sighted,
shoot to kill

This sad, sad game
of Romeo and Juliet,
with an even sicker twist
of a little Macbeth.
Because this culture
of old values, guns, and lies
are fueled by
blood and alibis.

Full of successors,
with all they've ever known, is;
the knife,
and the bloodthirsty will
to do nothing
but succeed.

But this "we"
I'm referring to... you,

you and I,
we are one in the same,
Caught up in all these sick little games.
Though you may not see it
all those around you,
their your mafia.
but slightly more strange,
murderers of society
is your mafia's range.

We are the cliques:
The jocks,
and goths.
The outcasts,
the untouchables,
the invisibles,
and the implacable individuals.

We are the mafia.
In every sense of the word,
our voices are screaming
out to be heard.

As we rush into the night
when the sky fades to black

We look back into the past
where thoughts are churning
with this forsaking fear
of growing old
or being accepted by peers.

We run from the truth
all through our lives
the fires the we will burn
that we all despise.

We the people,
We of elite few,
or should we say,
unlucky few.
Born as weapons to fight
century old battles
and disappear...
...into the night.