Handmade Handgun

I am a handmade handgun

Operated by paper crooks

Loaded up with bullets of blank pages torn from your little black book

You can call me all your favorites

Oh, I love those dirty looks

You know I'll be drunk and waiting on the steps of St. Anthony's Church

Knuckle-blood stains the doorframe

Frustration both ways

You see me knock, I see you gaze through the peeker

Watch me sneak far away

(bump bump bump bump,) as I push my please through the shades

I'm out of sight, for I know violence is nonsense from a dime

I spent your mind time stop for us, (caught up,)

Cost of a heart accosted, don't blink

Nothin's so strangled like us

Nothin deranged like that love

Nothin explains away the way I played like new things don't break

Live under your ribs, a toybox, an Apple plugin

Tuned to tune out, give out what's yours

Like when in doubt, play the mouse in the mouth like

Please don't let me die

But you know me, I could never lay you down to sleep

Take a knee, spillin salt and shame up on your pretty feet

With a head full of bourbon, I do this

Though I love you and I think you hurt me on purpose

I am a handmade handgun

I thought of everything

Even your paper ring

The organs playin our song

Playin our song, so sing along

Hail to the graces

A blessing for the souls that walk about

Walk among you till this hour of death

Walk among you till this hour of death

(Hail Mary, full of grace, the Lord is with thee; blessed art thou among women, and blessed is the fruit of thy womb, Jesus

Holy Mary, Mother of God, pray for us sinners, now and at the hour of our death. Amen)

You come to find me, hopelessly

Wrapped around the gun, staring at the sun

Don't you fuckin lie to me

G'head and try it, see, God's witness

Pick a sense and listens, hidden

Layin down behind a line of ivy

He can hand you pure moments

Or quit you from every sense you got

Protect you with the spectacles, testicles, wallet watch

But the devil keeps an open shop

He pays his bills and fills his pots

Thanks to the single sable sheep, hidden in that hollow plot

It's a classic case of damned if you do, damned if you don't

And I'll be damned if I end up playing Job with God's loving hand on my throat

You could swear I traced a trail of wormwood slipping from the Empyrean

But Providence, just a myth if I aim to let my trigger pray

But you know me, I could never lay you down to sleep

I'm a prostrate paper tiger supplicating at your pretty feet

My mouth may run on a loaded gun and a belly full of bourbon

I only do this cuz I love ya, I know you'd never hurt me on purpose

I am a handmade hangun