The gun was pointed long ago,
And pointed right at me.
So close... that the barrel,
Was all that I could see.
And then accustom took it's hold,
So I carried on the same.
But then it shifted awful slight,
And found a better aim.
Holding just such a disposition,
( I discern better than some,)
That there was no mistaking,
What was about to come.
And so I had to choose an option,
Though they all were poor,
I must have chose the worst because,
I never saw the door.
And I'll never know who pulled it,
Were you? or I? to blame?
The cocking of that trigger?
I heard it say my name.