When I walk in the door, it hits me like a brick. A thick smog formed from the hate you spit.
The words you say torment me, how can some be that way. Every letter burns my skin like some type of toxic spray.

You have our hearts arrayed nicely. You're sick of our eyes shining so brightly. You're sick of us not bending to your will.
Like your empty heart is something we can fill. Like me yelling back was the only overkill.
You made my Mama want to jump off the windowsill. My memories of you are going completely downhill.  But it's not my fault that you made your own kids mentally ill.

So I sit and watch an abusive man preach, like he's got something valuable to teach. I was too scared to first hear myself screech.
But I did it, I knocked him down. My words make him not make a sound.
But it only lasts for a minute. Because It's never too late for him to finish.
It's never too late for him to throw another brick.
So he goes and takes another hit.

I never thought he'd say that. I never thought he'd do that.
He sat there waiting with the bat, just ready to hit it back.
We just want peace and quiet. Well, just peace would do.
Because I'm sick of getting hit with bricks, and I bet Mama is too.