recidivi5t

you are not a weapon
these are not yr friends
no one has their finger on your button
this fuselage is stationary

you are not a warhead
no one has you under their vigilance
no hand trembles with dread at the thought of your impact
into their head

there is no global situation as you scan the sky
you have no target
you are not precise

and these silos look like steeples
the fodder for the slaughter
and the grain
posturing like children
a cathedral filled with missiles in my brain
but you are not a weapon

this is not your purpose
and everything depends
on whether you will run off through the amber waves
smashing atoms and orchestrating plans

out of love letters and silos
housing all the pain
your homestead in the badlands never had a
secret program in its livingroom

so reassess your information, look into my eyes
tonight
you are not a weapon.