Life As A Target
The bullet flies through the air
I hold my breath
I’m to young for death
but the bullet doesn’t care it’ll hit someone so young
that they never got to see the morning sun
it’ll hit someone so innocent
that they’d have blood the colour of snow
were all just targets ligned up row by row
there’s no way to know when your time is up
you just have to trust your own luck
that when the bullet comes
it won’t get you
that if you have one final wish
that wish will come true