Protest The Hero Blind Folds Aside
We woke up as men but tonight we'll sleep as killers. As we break this cryptic morning with a bullet and a prayer. The steel never seemed so cold and agile than life never seems less vital and fragile.
With a heart that's beating louder than my own. I watch a woman they call Kezia. I watch a woman that I know my hopes and my own future blindfolded. To atone for a sin I didn't care for, but a sin that paid my debts, a sin that feed my children and burned my smiles and cigarettes.
And no one ever said that hope would be so beautiful. And no one ever said you had to pull the trigger. I can't even still her trembling hands that were locked up by the dutiful and the obligated.
Five soldier's forever sedated with the "No ones responsible" psychological drama of our social justice dribble. Her tiny steps tell lies about the choice I have to make, resurrect a static lifestyle and starve to death my own mistakes. Pull the screaming trigger and watch your carcass bleed me dry. Or drop the gun and try to shake away the blindfold from your eyes. Or drop the gun, or drop the gun, drop the gun.
