if just one person shoots,
it becomes a war.
Bobbing and weaving through the staccato beats of curses and tempered heats.
You launch a grenade to blow it up to smoke, but bomb is you, and, all of a sudden, it's all mirrored joke - it's a one-sided war between your mind and your heart.
And after the carnage, you have the words to say.. but there's nobody left to say them to.
You weren't born alone, so this can't be death
and you pick yourself up to live another day.
Wandering the world for someone who'll listen.
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