Reb and Vodka

the anger is building up inside
taunting me with these demented dreams—
dreams of death, rampage, hostility,
filled with the sound of bloodcurdling screams.

a single shot will take it away;
a single shot will make them see.
but why should i stop at just one shot
when i could take them all down with me?

those who spawn this bitterness of mine,
who think they possess a godlike wrath,
will know how it feels to be despised,
to be the prey in my sweet bloodbath.

a single shot could make it all stop;
a single shot could make me forget.
but i will not stop at just one shot...
i have not fired these last rounds yet.

i cannot take it any longer;
i must put an end to this vile rage.
it was really quite a foolish thing
for you to let me out of my cage.

a single shot is just not enough;
a single shot won't keep me content.
so i will not stop at just one shot...
i must let this bloodlust run its course.

i dare you to laugh at me again
when this gun is pointing at your head.
i bet you won't mock me anymore...
my patience is gone; i want you dead.

a single shot ended the insults;
a single shot and i watched them fall.
i gave them all what they deserved,
and the laughter stopped, once and for all.

now i lift the gun to my temple
and prepare to take my own last breath.
i will soon be free of my sick mind
for there is no therapist like Death.

<I>in memory of Eric Harris and Dylan Klebold</I>