Paper Targets

Paper Targets

You shoot at people as if they were paper targets

Not caring who you kill, maim or injure

Your outrage has been well planned

Not a single bit went wrong

You serviced your guns

Collected hundreds of bullets

Dressed the part in boots, fatigues and body armour

Then made your way down the main street

Calmly walking with guns in hand

Carefully aiming and firing at random targets

One round here, another there

Aiming at chests, necks, heads, legs

But reveling when you shot them in the back

Are you fucking crazy?

What the fuck made you do this?

A red letter from the leccy company?

Your girlfriend ditching you?

Your dog pissing on your leg?

Nothing justifies your actions

Not even an act of war

For those people you shot were innocent

Not some enemy Russian soldiers on the battlefield

You gunned down a dozen plus lives

Selfishly cutting them short with total disregard

Injuring ten more to varying degrees

I guess your shooting wasn’t so accurate

Or did you maim them on purpose?

Only you know why you did this?

Bringing war to a quiet urban street

Where they’re more used to arguing pensioners

And drunken chavs fighting at weekend

In the space of five minutes you changed everything

Putting this small town on the map

For all the wrong reasons

Including your cowardly suicide

Tell me, did you have any regrets?

Before you swallowed the barrel and blew your head off?

You’re nothing but a fucking coward

With a collection of illegal guns…