Love one another.
Such a simple thing to ask.
But when it comes to action.
Few fulfill their task.
They criticize each other.
They tease the quiet ones.
They say, "It doesn't matter."
"He knows it's just in fun."
There's a reason why he's quiet.
He's been hurt too many times,
By people he considered friends,
Just to find that they had lied.
He takes the knife that's in his hands
And lifts his eyes to God above.
“How could you do this to me?
Do you like what I've become?”
“You made me in your image
And in my mother's womb
You formed me and you made me
Then you bore me to this tomb.”
“I tried to live life your way.
I turned the other cheek
And what do people think of me?
They think that I am weak.”
He holds his wrists before him,
And with a trembling hand.
He drains the life blood from his arm,
He spasms, then is dead.
As people gather 'round him,
They ask each other this...
“How could he end his life this way?
There's so much that he missed.”
Perhaps they should have loved him
And shown him, he had friends.
They should have loved each other,
It’s that which life depends.