Don’t you ever get tired of being defensive,
on guard,
on the waiting call to strike back and move forward?
Don’t you ever feel restless for a minute of peace in the world,
in yourself?

Another empty whisky bottle lays at the end of that table
and still there’s no hope to be found.

You fight to hold on,
you fight to stay strong.

Finger on the gun,
you’re not going home today.

The fight’s not done,
the war ain’t won.

A man on a ledge, ready to jump.