The Morning Gun

It’s not the morning gun

That frightens us up

From our dreams

It’s the rallying cry of the gun

Spewing lead into the youthful skulls

Breaking short the dawns serenity

Hushing down the sweet melodies

Of the weaverbird

And the trumpet of the songman

But they said; the big reprobates

It was the arm of the law

Bringing down a mobsters dynasty

But … wait!

I hear another rat-at-at

See gun smoking haze in rage

Women shaking heads in solemnity

In terror, in grief, in anguish

Another young soul is gone

It’s getting submerged in bloodbath

It’s drowning in the shady blood

And soon,

It will be carried away

By the blood flood

Away to the grave!