Under The Gun

Here's my open letter to the Council for the Betterment of All that is Seen and Unseen:

It's been time since I have written

For the things that we have given

Me and all my brothers and my sisters and the lovers in the street

All saving a lonely goodbye

For a time we're born to shun

But surely someday soon will come

But we will pass pleasantries, even under the gun.

Here's my open letter to the words written by feathers dipped in the ink of several generations' blood:

Throwing fits through conduits to future generations

It's a fools game to rule

In the practice of what's already done

Composing a lonely goodbye

For a time when you are gone

To any victim yet unborn

But we will tell it like it is, even under the gun.

It's taken most of what I am to understand that we are in the same boat.

Despite the things that I might say,

My will is never far away to keep going

To keep going

To keep on going, going, going, going, going, even under the gun.

Here's my open letter to the president of which whatever white-brick palace in the mud:

Spending slashing underhand

From high up not to understand

Your fellow man, who walks in line and makes the most of his time

While you're shouting a lonely goodbye

Not to let the people know that you could ever let it go

But we will tell it like it is, even under the gun

We will move right on, even under the gun.

We will dance right on, even under the gun.

We will move right on, even under the gun.