a cello fell
from an overcast sky
that cold day in Salem
when your daddy died
but little did they know
of that old .45
that kept you really knowing
what it meant to be alive

a trumpet tore
through a pianist's chest
as May drifted through New Hampshire
wearing a used bulletproof vest
the scent of gunpowder got her wet
as did the law of ballistics
we were married in the fall
by spring, just another statistic

flashbangs play this symphony
i make young women crawl and grown men bawl
i once shot a janitor in the back
of a bathroom stall
i thought of the first time
i fucked the babysitter
then i squeezed the trigger
and his head rolled behind the shitter

this goddamned ringing
won't stop in my head
i must've shot sixteen people
only eleven pronounced dead
cold steel and smoke
were the ways of my life
if May could just see me now
she might still be my wife