gun – Dcid Corvid

I recognize that every breath is a fight,
Gagging on your own blood and all,
But you just gotta hold on.

You’re not done fighting yet.
Open your fuckin’ eyes!
Look at me, you pussy!
You’re not going to die in my arms.

Don’t make me tell your family
All that horseshit about
Memories being timeless
And you, now, living in them.

Be a man!
Suck it up!
Wake up.

It’s too late, though, isn’t it?
Your lips are blue, body stiff.
Please wake up,
Don’t do this to me.

Where’s the poetry in this?
There’s no beauty here.
Why do the birds keep singing,
Serenading this tragedy?

Why would you do this to me?
Why would you rest
When there’s still so much for us to do?

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Living his life by morals taught
By old country songs,
He knows when to hold ’em,
And he sure as hell knows when to fold ’em.

He knows that life is not easy for a boy named Sue,
But he craves that freedom only sung.

Still, though, having never sat on a horse,
He imagines himself a cowboy.
In blue jeans and boots,
He sits with a gun on his hip.

Sipping his whiskey,
He smokes mentholated cigarettes.

He’ll never shoot a man in Reno,
Wanting to watch him die.
Instead he’ll watch True Grit,
Again, and again and again.

Deep down, he knows that it’s
A death bed that’ll get him,
Not a dueling six-shooter.

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Tag: gun