“Shoot the Dead” (rough version)
I settled for a while
To catch my frozen breath
Until I caught a strip of steel
As you aimed to shoot your dead
My eyes are growing tired
From this constant stream of red
Every time I come around the bend
You recoil from shooting your dead
With the calmest demeanor
Like a seamstress stitching thread
You never stop
The hammer drops
You go ahead and shoot your dead
All they ever wanted
Was a place to lay and rest
But true to form
You swoop and swarm
To blankly shoot your dead
You talk of brotherly affection
As you hunt for stranger flesh
Each life you take
Is a bed to break
As you stoop to shoot your dead
“What can quell such bloodlust”?
I ponder in my head
While the leaders of the free men
Quietly watch you shoot your dead
“Renovation”
Time and time again I’ve said
“Is the only cure for genocide”
Another acolyte shoots their dead
You hide behind barbed wires
Beating on your wireless chest
You talk so tall
But your reach is small
Another critic shooting their dead
I’ve spent most of my existence
Living large on stolen bread
A face among the slaves of hate
Just a coward shooting the dead
Father
I hope and pray
I bow to humbly beg
Rip the skies
Mend our lives
Before we shoot every last one of our dead
Feb 17, 2018
Feb 17, 2018 at 9:12 PM UTC
“Shoot the Dead” (rough version)
I settled for a while
To catch my frozen breath
Until I caught a strip of steel
As you aimed to shoot your dead
My eyes are growing tired
From this constant stream of red
Every time I come around the bend
You recoil from shooting your dead
With the calmest demeanor
Like a seamstress stitching thread
You never stop
The hammer drops
You go ahead and shoot your dead
All they ever wanted
Was a place to lay and rest
But true to form
You swoop and swarm
To blankly shoot your dead
You talk of brotherly affection
As you hunt for stranger flesh
Each life you take
Is a bed to break
As you stoop to shoot your dead
“What can quell such bloodlust”?
I ponder in my head
While the leaders of the free men
Quietly watch you shoot your dead
“Renovation”
Time and time again I’ve said
“Is the only cure for genocide”
Another acolyte shoots their dead
You hide behind barbed wires
Beating on your wireless chest
You talk so tall
But your reach is small
Another critic shooting their dead
I’ve spent most of my existence
Living large on stolen bread
A face among the slaves of hate
Just a coward shooting the dead
Father
I hope and pray
I bow to humbly beg
Rip the skies
Mend our lives
Before we shoot every last one of our dead