These are the sounds of my rifle and my trumpet
My rifle sings the music of life
To the sheet music of three
Separate and equal Conductors
Yet constantly contradictory.
My trumpet causes so much pain
Howling to desolate moon
The desert hills
And the vile intemperament
Of man.
At night I lay down
Stare up at the stars
And wonder and wonder
What is the meaning of death
When life is ever more ticking
In time?
How do I reconcile
With the man that I once was?
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