Thinking of the constitution in my own home alone,
thinking of the right to bear arms,
thinking of it as I hold my gun in my hand,
thinking of the friends that I have lost,
thinking of the friends that I have lost for no reason at all,
far too many in societies craziness,
and here I sit contemplating,
contemplating,
thinking of throwing my gun in the bin,
thinking of throwing my gun in the bin,
but will anyone else,
I doubt it at all,
I doubt it at all,
and I contemplate,
and I think of my friends faces,
I think of my friends that have been killed,
killed for no reason at all,
and here I sit alone,
here I sit with them gone,
and with them no longer to call,
and here I sit with a sadness in my heart,
and as I sit, I think of the protests,
the countless protests in the streets,
and the constant crying mothers and fathers,
and families on the news,
endlessly crying,
and endless burials and memorials,
repeated again and again,
repeated in the newspapers,
and in the magazines and online and on TV,
and I keep thinking of them all,
I keep thinking of them all,
and I turn on the TV,
and I watch the news with my gun in my hand,
and there are more stories of gun violence,
and shootings and death,
more stories of gun violence,
and shootings and death,
maybe I will keep my gun after all.