Rolling back the years

Could have thought it was 81

Didn't all the slaughters teach you

How much wrong we done

You say you're only tweeting

But I see history repeating

Brianna showed us that murder don't retract

Now a teenage girl is gone

Do you know whose bed you're in

Whose watching you sleeping

The weight of all your words

The blood that's on your fingertips

It's my business

And mine alone

Way too young, too old

To be hated for

What I've always known

I've got nothing

To be sorry for

So won't you close the door behind you

On your way

On your way

Harlem Gospel Travelers:

We ignore the tears 

And go about our lives 

How many souls are missing

How many have died 

How many taken and beaten

Closeted skeletons peak-in

Too scared to admit your attraction

So you attack 

Now another doll is gone 

Why do you care whose bed they're in 

Or what bathroom they're using 

All that hate that you're spewing 

the blood that came from your silence  

It's my business (it's my business)

And mine alone

Way too young, too old

To be hated for

What I've always known

I've got nothing (I've got nothing)

To be sorry for

So won't you close the door behind you

On your way

On your way

It's my business