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
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