Loading, loading, loading in the dark
While the busted generator issues not a single spark
Orange tip, orange tip, orange, then green
Like a chef preparing dinner for my little death-machine
Spring snags, switch mags, pop them out and start again
(Little bitch; picky eater, double feed her, it's your end)
Just loading, loading, loading in the dark
With my lead-filled copper bon-bons
And my steel-encrusted heart
It's feeding, chambering, locking, firing
(Seven mags already and my fingers now are tiring)
Unlocking, extraction, ejection, cocking
(This unholy machine-mantra keeps my demon-baby rocking)
I never hope to do it, but--
I can't afford to miss my mark
So I sit and wish for someplace else
Where I'm not loading in the dark.

01/23/2005

Posted on 01/23/2005
Copyright © 2024 Jon-Jacob F Deal