Life As A Target

The bullet flies through the air

I hold my breath

I’m to young for death

but the bullet doesn’t care it’ll hit someone so young

that they never got to see the morning sun

it’ll hit someone so innocent

that they’d have blood the colour of snow

were all just targets ligned up row by row

there’s no way to know when your time is up

you just have to trust your own luck

that when the bullet comes

it won’t get you

that if you have one final wish

that wish will come true