Oh, don’t be naive, we need our guns,
For safety, for freedom, for weekend fun.
A bulwark of rights, a patriotic hymn,
Though the schools grow silent and the lights grow dim.
It’s not the guns, it’s the hands that hold,
Or so the story’s repeatedly told.
We’ll blame the troubled, the sick, the deranged,
But the tools of destruction? They’ll never be changed.
A badge of honor, a symbol of pride,
While mothers weep and nations divide.
Armed to the teeth, the brave and the free,
In grocery aisles, under classroom trees.
Oh, what’s a life in the land of the brave,
But a fleeting spark we’re not meant to save?
We arm ourselves against unseen foes,
While neighbors fall, and the toll just grows.
But don’t you worry, it’s all worth the cost,
Each shattered dream, each loved one lost.
For liberty’s price is a deadly game,
Where no one remembers the victims’ names.
So hail the amendment, so timeless, so true,
And polish that barrel till it gleams anew.
For what’s a solution when you’re already right?
Let the irony echo through the long, dark night.
(Author unknown)
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