The soul has much to say

Smoking Gun...


Teenage, misery
Eating lunch, in the boys room
Cloak of inadequacy, fit too tight
The years, void of any identity

Wanting to pull the trigger
Crush the psyche of my peers
He holds me down
The embrace of God

Ideas of a young man,
laughed to scorn by the majority
Seeing things in a different way
I'm told to stop dreaming

The hammer's cocked
Verbal assault, ready for launch
He touches my shoulder
He eases my pain

Rejection, persecution
I'm too young, to suffer this wrath
I'm too old, to play the game
Camping out, at the crossroads

Pull it out of the holster
A special messenger, just for me
He wipes away my tears
He knew me, before I was

Smoking gun, momentary relief
Love of the Father, eternal peace
Free will, can be the best medicine
I choose...Him

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Smoking Gun...

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