You call me a monster,
for that I have been,
mistreated and abused you,
I killed and murdered three.

You call me barbarous,
for that I have been,
dragging others in my suffering,
I killed and murdered three.

I deserve all the titles,
and the treatment too,
for that I have earned,
knowing my mistakes.

Yet something's a pity,
another whisper gone amiss,
a call of desperation,
I killed and murdered three.

On that dreadful day,
with the blood on my hands,
I held the gun to my head,
knowing the mistakes I made.

I was found with trembling hands,
and before I could act,
I was pulled away from fate,
prolonging my torture,
knowing your mistakes.

Now it is even worse, 
and you call me names,
for that I have earned,
but before those were entitled,
you still called me freak.

Before I killed and murdered three,
you still called me a rarity,
the ugly oddity,
that did not fit in.

So today I tell you,
as a promise of goodbye,
that I was a victim too,
and you killed and murdered four.