24 Sep 2013
Hey, boy, why don't you act straight?
Words don't come out right,
figures don't make any sense.

You’ve got a thorn in your side.
Something don't look right,
there's bleach in the well.

I can help you out.

Let go of the joy you find
in touches and glances
from boys in the yard.

Forget someone to hold tight,
an engine that runs right;
a feeling of trust.

The blood’s on our hands, Anoka-Hennepin.
The blood’s on our hands, in Bakersfield.