I'm glad I don't own a gun
'Cause I'd dirty it straight away
Shiny bullets of copper and brass
I'd color them with red and grey
With flecks of white for an extra kick
Well, at least one

A smoky haze to filter the light
Of the eyes once bright
Now fading into that night

I'd laugh and I'd scream
With unintentional rhymes
Stomping my feet
To keep the time

I'd lay there the victim
Or walk out the fool
I'll let you decide
Which one is who.