Yeah, we put him in the ground. But he still lives inside my head. Guess I could bury him in smoke. But knowing me, that would only make things worse. This tree is poisoned at the roots. And there ain't nothing I can do. I'm still haunted by his voice and by the things we saw. Our second floor torture chamber. My poor mother thinks it's all her fault. I can't tell her where this apple really falls. Because he's still inside, still inside my head. And I don't complain, because after all I've said. It's time to go dig him up and take a good look in the mirror. It's all I've got. In my head. In my head. And all this therapy and things that kids from my neighborhood are never supposed to have. Should I feel guilty? Should I feel anything at all? Should I feel anything at all?