There was a time I used to stand and stare,
As all your pressed and preachy songs were sung.
But now I will no longer idly wear,
The coward’s clothes for I’m no longer young.
Give me the sniper’s sight, a brutal aim,
And show the path to targets I may seek.
My deadly weapon’s here to kill, not maim,
For meeting death’s no work for mortals weak.
Deceit is cropped and trimmed by honest work,
False witness may not gain the day this time.
Its bearers here my toils shall rend inert,
As truth ensures the victory only mine.
Yet all such labors Pyrrhic risks provoke,
To trap and down the fall of honest folk.
© Sam McKeon 2015
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