Everyone Is a Loaded Gun

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Everyone Is a Loaded Gun

I’m waiting for my bus to come.
I’m pleading for a miracle.
It’s thoughts like these that bring a man to his knees.
The things I cannot change that cripple underneath.

Three cheers,
I’m the spectacle, I’m despicable and foul.
Line up and take your stones,
may the purest one proceed.

I’m dressed up for a funeral,
dolled up in Sunday’s best.
My hollowed words hide behind crooked teeth. I’d bite my tongue sooner than let it speak.

Three cheers for the Loaded Gun,
I’ve ingested and inspired.
Line up and take your shots,
may the criminal get his.

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