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Michael couldn't understand, |
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why people shook him by the hand, |
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then laughed at him and talked behind his back. |
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Michael didn't know the rules, |
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Abused, confused at all the schools they sent him to - gave him the view to leave. |
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Michael's got a gun, |
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Now he's living on the hill. |
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Watch the people run, |
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shooting down the kids at play, |
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He'll teach them all to stay away. |
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Mothers screaming, running round |
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No-one laughs at Michael now! |
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Out the classroom window stood a hill which made him feel so good, |
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He thought he'd like to have it as a home. |
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People never spoke to him, |
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Ignored, deplored, he got so bored, |
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He ran away and bought himself a gun. |
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Michael's got a gun... |
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Michael lay down in the sun, |
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Perhaps he'd put away the gun if only they would leave him quite alone. |
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No-one heard his point of view, |
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The crowd of vigilantes grew, |
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so Michael used the gun just one last time... |
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Michael's got a gun, |
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Now he's buried on the hill... |
