I hold in my hands the gun, but I can't pull the trigger;It's not about being the older person, it's about being the bigger;You shoot your gun at me, yet I can't shoot mines back;I can't dodge all your bullets and so my barrier suffers another crack; I cry out in pain at the damage done to my heart;Not wishing the bullets miss me, but the gun was never fired from the start;Water welled in my eyes, despite feeling this way before;My finger still hesitating on the trigger is beginning to get sore;The tears broke through my dam and you considered that as weak;Your bullets cause this kind of destruction, leaving me to feel bleak; Stop! Wait! I can no longer hold my gun;It's not surprising. In the battle of words you always have won;This does not mean I'm not strong, or I don't know how to fight;It just means I'm vulnerable when it comes to love and I won't say things out of spite; Can the same be said for you, and you don't lead with just emotion;You can be a better person without shooting others, or at least that's my notion;