My voice mixes with theirs,
Harsh, loud, and proud.
My fifty brothers and I.

They’re always there,
Looking out for me.
They’re songs catching in the fabric of my mind.

They’re all hardened,
Life having delt it’s hand.
They’re singing for the losers, and the kids who lucked out.

Some of them are angry,
Angry for what our world has become.
Singing for a change, but not really expecting it.

Some of them are laughing,
Laughing because they are kids.
Kids being stupid in a large, dangerous world.

Some are in pain,
Screaming out in agony,
For the help they so desperately need.

These are my brothers,
All looking out for me.
Sharing their pain, and making me stronger.