Massacre without a motive

He was a boy without a motive, just a gun to heal his pain

He lived alone, unwanted; he thought a killing would bring him fame.

But it wasn’t fame that found him; only the cops that made him pay,

Because he broke the silence when the guns rang out that day.

People left in boy bags when the stability of this boy cracked,

Nothing he could say or do would bring those people back.

Families cried for loved ones when he was taken by the hands

He was forced head first into darkness, of a big black copper van.

His trial was quick and painless just like the needle in his arm,

He found himself in the chair of death with nothing to keep him calm.

He thought of all those students whose lives he had cut short

When killing was his pleasure it was all of which he thought.

But now this boy, he faces the crowd of the parents of the kids who died

All he could do was smile because now it was his turn to fly