He was running,

Running for his life,

Running from the people with a knife.

The people hated him,

He didn't know why,

He'd run into a corner,

and try not to cry.

Tears running from those big blue eyes,

He wouldn't see,

The people closing in,

Hoping he would die.

They would cuss him

And curse him,

Telling him to die,

No one thought he would survive.

They were memories you see,

From ancestors past,

Telling them all,

"Do not fear the last."

The people punished the boy,

Kept him from home,

Told him he's the monster,

He wished he could scream.

But one had come,

The one the boy loved,

Told him he was himself,

And no one else.

The boy was happy,

Happy as can be,

Happy that he could finely see,

That he was the one,

Looking out for everyone.