The Spirit Of A Gun Poem by Adams King

It came like a rising twinge of feelings
Uncontrollable were my hands
Too weak to control the temptation

Anger! The request for blood spilling
Murder and death were it's demand
After such much regrets and damnation

I was the only Angel present there
Yet i was the devil that tempted myself
To commit such unprofessional sin

Together with demons death was in the air
We kept marching in strength left right left
With a possessed determination to kill

Our guns were hungry to spit out bullets
And our bullets were at the throat of our guns
So we vomited our mistakes of a lifetime

Alas! We constructed a disastrous death
Forgetting criminals are law's own sons
Left for the father to judge their crimes

We took the law into our own hands
And the law took our hands with cuffs
To pay for our unprofessional deeds

Tell this to the airs the seas and lands
We were not trying to be rough or tough
But possessed by the spirit of gun's greed

A black man with a black smoking gun
Holds the key to a self deciding life and death
To every bloody man that crosses his way

Remember the custom officer's careless gun
Which once ended the days of a traveller on earth
This is the possession by which we swayed

The spirit of a gun always asks for blood
Learn to serve and starve him when you must
Else you turn the persecuted persecutor

We are good potters who fell victim of bad mud
Bringing down our long laboured statue to dust
We live by the gun we are ready to die by the gun