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Shoot
I was born with a gun in my mouth, With the barrel down my throat so that I couldn’t shout For help and for savior from parents and doctors That wants my safety but can’t see the danger.
There’s a gun in my mouth, and I run my tongue along the edge Of the muzzle to feel the ridges I left On the metal from bite marks I gnawed with my teeth, As I waited for the bullets to make their release.
The gun’s in my mouth, and the feel is familiar, The ache in my jaw and the sick, twisted thrill of Wanting the change, and wanting the bullet, And wanting the finger on the trigger to pull it.
There’s a gun in my mouth, and I want it to hurt, and I want to it to sting and I want it to burn As the bullet rips my throat in a blazing blow, For at least it leaves a wound that I can show.
There’s a gun in my mouth, but I’m holding the gun, And holding me down so that I can’t run. There’s a gun in my hand, and it’s pointing at me, As I wait for the shot that will mark me free.
There’s a gun in my hand and I want to use it, On the cowardly girl and the mouths that abuse it, That hurt the gun by taking it as given, And holding the gun, yet waiting for forgiveness.
There’s a gun in my mouth, and a gun in my hand, And they both want the freedom the bullet will grant. A shift in the hell of the stagnant waiting, An end to the rope that is already fraying.
There’s a gun in my hand, and I want it to hurt, I want it to sting and I want it to burn, As I pull the trigger and feel as the metal, Rips through the chamber and finds my mouth to settle.
There’s a gun in my heart, and a gun in my fate, There’s a bullet I will shoot when it’s already too late, There’s a hope in my heart for help and for savior, From parents and doctors that can’t see the danger.
I was born with a weapon in my mouth, With the barrel down my throat so I couldn’t cry out For help and rescue from parents and doctors Who want to keep me safe but don’t see the threat.
There’s a weapon in my mouth, and I move my tongue along the edge Of the muzzle to feel the grooves I left On the metal from bite marks I made with my teeth, As I waited for the bullets to be released.
The weapon’s in my mouth, and the feeling is familiar, The pain in my jaw and the sick, twisted excitement of Wanting change, wanting the bullet, And wanting the finger on the trigger to pull it.
There’s a weapon in my mouth, and I want it to hurt, and I want it to sting and I want it to burn As the bullet tears through my throat in a fiery blow, At least it leaves a wound that I can show.
There’s a weapon in my mouth, but I’m holding the weapon, And holding me down so I can’t escape. There’s a weapon in my hand, and it’s aimed at me, As I wait for the shot that will set me free.
There’s a weapon in my hand and I want to use it, On the cowardly girl and the mouths that misuse it, That hurt the weapon by taking it for granted, And holding the weapon, yet waiting for forgiveness.
There’s a weapon in my mouth, and a weapon in my hand, And they both want the freedom the bullet will give. A change in the hell of the stagnant waiting, An end to the rope that is already fraying.
There’s a weapon in my hand, and I want it to hurt, I want it to sting and I want it to burn, As I pull the trigger and feel as the metal, Tears through the chamber and finds my mouth to settle.
There’s a weapon in my heart, and a weapon in my fate, There’s a bullet I will fire when it’s already too late, There’s a hope in my heart for help and rescue, From parents and doctors that don’t see the threat.