In My Defense

They cry, they moan, they grieve, they scream

It can’t be happening, it must be a dream

The shots, the panic; can’t run, can’t hide

How did he even make it inside?

The noise, the bullets, the fear, can’t move

What does he think his actions will prove?

It’s quiet, it’s stopped, can breathe, can’t walk

Stop asking questions, don’t think I can talk

The grief, the pain, it hurts, they’re lost

Need to do something, whatever the cost

We suffer, we plan, they’re buried, alone

Still have their smiles somewhere on my phone

Twitter, email, letters and calls

Protests and demos and speeches in halls

Calls to the chief from the country he runs

He’s quick to reply – the answer’s more guns!

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