Дедушка Мюллер (grossfater_m) wrote,
Дедушка Мюллер


И о культурке.


I was born in the blast of a furnace of steel
And I wondered what shape I would be
I was hard, I was cold, I was just a day old
And I wondered what future I'd see
Then a rough pair of hands fashioned peaces of steel
And a handle of smooth silky wood
And an arm held me out
While the eye of the man kept staring as hard as he could
I was fitted with bullets, with jackets of steel
And then taken outside in the light
Then he aimed me direct at a man on a horse
And his hands squeezed me tighter than tight
A bursting of fire exploded inside me sent flying a comet of heat
As the smoke cleared the way
I could see straight ahead the man who layed dead in the street
I'm a gun, I'm a gun
Til the day that man destroys me I'm a gun
It's not the gun that kills a man
It's the man who fires the gun that kills a man
It's not the gun that kills a man

I tried to call out but my steel has no tongue
And to men I am only a slave
I've never forgotten that terrible day
And that man that I couldn't save
No one knows what it means to be held in a hand
To be pointed and triggered to kill
To be labeled a gun with no power to stop
All the blood that man shooting will spill
Tags: АКМоид, дурю, культур-мультур, огнестрел

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