95% ocean 5% land How is it something so unlikely found its way to my hand Fingertips aged by waiting Mind in a trance The gun that aimed to **** landed in my hands To aim, to shoot, to ****, to cry The trigger trembles desperately The question lies waiting, To **** or to die To hand it in and be considered a fraud, To another pair of hands who would just stand and take aim, Or place it back in the water to find another pair of waiting fingertips, The blood was spilt but not on my hands, 95% ocean 5% land