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Remember when bullets were fun?
Pulling a trigger meant invisible death.
We couldn't miss a shot, us against armies.
We crumbled the firmest foundations.
Penetrated the tallest of towers.
Dug through the deepest depths of limbs.
But our shirts without holes and clean.
Coin flip for captain, remember that?
The loser carried the bazooka and ammo.
The winner led with lead and a salute.
Oh but eventually we'd find an end
In that backyard battleground
On top of the barn where'd villains fled.
Then cookies, lemonade, and buttered bread.
Now, you and I aren't so safe.
No mom here to call time-out.
These hellfire bullets shredding our shirts.
Miles of thread lining thousands of stitches.
A few tons of tank roaring ahead.
Broken rotors from a bird making our beds.
Ash to eat and blood for butter.
And still the gunshots won't stutter.