Fed up with this frustration
Living on a dead end street
I can't abide this rat race life
Brake into my neighbor's
basement shelter at night
Steal his old machine gun
I go deep into the woods
I lift the gun to the sky
I fire round after round
Scream for answers
From President
From God
From parents
From society
From boss
From lovers
From children
From myself
I lift the gun to the sky
Bullets fill the air again
I want to shoot down the
ghost of Amerigo Vespucci
I want open holes in the sky
I want someone to hear me
I need solid advice tonight
Only the wind ever replies
It tells me the one answer
is to make in to tomorrow
Even if I cease to exist
the sun will rise and set
and no amount of trigger
happy retaliation can
ever truly delay progress
