The Bombs stop falling
The gunshots cease
The sky opens up
and the clouds start to release/
So much bad luck in 17 years.
failures, losses, and gaining of fears.
The lone little bullet that sits in my pocket,
I store it away in a box and lock it.
Could this be it?
Is it my time at last?
or is it another devil in disguise,
picking me up only to dump me in the trash.
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