there’s a bullet buried deep in my inheritance
inside a gun that’s been engraved with my own name
i keep it strapped tight to my hip under my jacket
it killed my father but I won’t end up the same
though I shoot myself in the foot from time to time
and I shoot whiskey when I’m sick of my own mind
and the questions keep me slurring through the day:
what’s unforgivable, and who’s to say?
it got revealed to me, the curse of my own heritage
I was afraid it was a role I’d been assigned
so I played the part a bit too well, if you're asking
but if you ask then I might feel compelled to try
and write an ending that's worth anybody's time
one day I’ll stand above the west ridge of the river
on the bridge that stitches one state to another
I'll feel the life force of the earth staring me down
and I’ll drop my gun straight into the river’s mouth
I’ll drop my gun into the goddamn river’s mouth
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