Lock n Load

Lock n' load, my friend, Hope eroded and the end Of the road is high-explosives, Round by round, we'll light up the votives, Seventeen dead and God knows the motives, (he wrote it, too) Like they all do, plan the background, The facts drowned out by a black cloud, React now, and don't back down, Sound fucking familiar? (this'll kill ya') The blood persists from the midst of the eighteenth century, You'd think we'd learn eventually, Mention the old days and old gray faces will fall Like the kids in the Parker Middle dinner-hall, Tap your feet to Plain Dealing's debutante ball, Cue the Charleston curtain-call, (buk-buk-buk) The Columbine - carbine nexus of perversity, Fifteen gone in the Texas University, Lost to the first-degree murder spree, (people... can you feel the uncertainty?) Californ-I-AK-forty-seven Not a dream but the fucking antithesis of Heaven, From that school-play affray in nineteen-eleven To the Tech insurrection in oh-oh-seven And the never-ending revenants we drag from the grave, To parade when another fucking child goes off Like a grenade, One-sixty dead in a decade, How many parents wishing their kids had overlaid? No grades for laying in state as the brass band played A dirge to reminds us that violence is part of our faith. (we didn't make a mistake) Tell it to the kids at Red Lake, At Sandy Hook and watch the heads shake, How many funerals, wakes, How many fucking lives must we now forsake Before the groundwork starts to break?