The gun’s cocked back
What do you do
Do you pull the trigger and end this seemingly endless dream
Or do you float, calmly, down this spiralling, calm current
The world seems to wind down, and so you live awake through this contagious state
You put the gun down, picking up a knife
What do you do
Do you release yourself, from this shared pain that is undeniably felt
God whispers, but you cannot hear him through the breeze in the trees all around
And so this knife leaves you afraid
And so this knife, you just leave on the ground
You cannot look at it, for it has strength that cannot be ignored
You cannot look anywhere, but everywhere, except for where the blade lies
Do you live, or do you die
That is easy, a question you can answer… isn’t it
You’re still alive, and you’ve forgotten where you’ve rested the knife
God has taken the gun
You walk, not picking anything up now, free from the weight of choice
You are free, and rejoice
You are free, as the breeze is your voice
God’s voice you ask for, but you hear only your own
It is the one that tells you to go home
But you know what awaits for you there
You know, but are you prepared
This freedom is not fair, for it is only life you face, and so you’re reflection in the water is where you stare
And so your life is your chase, in this place in which you go back and forth, in circles that never end
You stand high above the trees, all around now
But still, God is not found
As the friends you have left behind
Are the gun that has been taken
And the knife you left somewhere
On the ground
