Quiet guns,
Quiet guns
Go off inside my head.

Always thoughts of dreaming, falling fast inside my bed.

Quiet guns,
Quiet guns,
From all the books I've read.

Always thoughts of falling, falling fast inside my head.

And should the sun speak in French tongues,
I know the words quite well.

Quiet guns,
Quiet guns,
From all the bombs that fell.

And happiness is always seen,
Beneath its faded shroud;
But never when we feel it free,
Of pain and darkened clouds.

Metaphors and thoughts of death,
I've never seen to see;
I simply look and stare with awe,
I wish to simply be.

Quiet guns,
Quiet guns,
Acknowledgement hurts truth.

Acknowledgement is relative;
These words do more than soothe.

Immortal in my mortal mind,
Yet frightened of the void.
I draw myself with hook and tie;
So far I have enjoyed
The ride.

Quiet guns,
Quiet guns,
My throat is filled with lumps;
A sign, perhaps, that I am young,
And hit my first speed bump.

My feet, they weep in pain, inflamed,
My ears, they ring like screens.
Perhaps I'm rushing through this game,
As sadness tears the seams,
Of what seemed to be some sort of Zen,
A freedom cloud.

Regardless of this pain and sound,
I wish to live out loud,
And see the world in better health;
I'll make the dead me proud.

Quiet guns,
Quiet guns,
Go off inside my head.

Always thoughts of dreaming, falling fast
Inside my bed.