They will pay,
Pay for everything,
That they have ever done,
To hurt, to beat, to hate.

Someone once said,
“To murder is to hate.”
Or did they say,
“To hate is to murder.”

One way or the other,
They are dead,
Dead in this life and the next,
For everything they pulled.

They hurt,
The innocent.
They beat,
The deadly.
They hate,
The different.

Do they know what happens,
Inside homes,
Inside some peoples hell?
Do they know what it feels like,
When no one cares,
Cares about whether or not,
You live or you die,
You stay or leave,
You come home again?

Can you tell me the feeling that follows,
The broken hearted,
That shadows,
The beaten,
That swallows,
The hated?

Can you answer me this,
How do you know?