ric hordinski - A Weapon Is An Unhappy Tool (feat. Elsa Kennedy) Lyrics

Reversing every step we take
Murdering the friends we make
Turning into what we hate
There must be a reason we aren't made of metal.
There must be a reason our skin isn't bulletproof.
There must be a reason
There must be a reason we don't spit shrapnel from our lips mixing our hardships with fragments of violence
Yes, there is a reason the touch of the tips
Of my fingers isn't toxic to you
Nor is the breath from my lips when it lingers on yours
If man were a ready-made killing machine
Jesus would've had no one to save on judgment day
We are born fragile and equal
And we die fragile and equal,
And we spend the time in between trying to prove that we're not- we've created gods heard with a gunshot
Glory in a bomb drop
Power in the shellshocked masses
His reign rains down till we're ashes one goal:
A weapon is an unhappy tool
Turn a teacher to a tyrant turn a neighbor
Into a dictator
A father to a felon
A saint into a soldier
Who's right, who's bad, who's wrong, who's good
Who's white, who's black, god
Which side should
I be on
If i cant pick this gun could is that wrong
Did i stutter does it make me look good
My brother, my sister, my friend, my kin
We touch everything with soft, open skin,
Our nails are thin, our hair is sparse, our backs lack armor, our teeth aren't sharp
We are the poorest predators and the
Perfect prey
And here we create more and more ways
To hunt and be hunted
Be hated and hate
To hunt and be hunted, be hated and hate

A weapon is an unhappy tool....
The man created the weapon
The weapon seduced the man
The weapon spoke of a heaven
Where man could get more than with just his hands it knew man feared the devil
That he'd carry a gun just in case
It knew man feared the devil so much
He'd see the devil in his brother's face
Maybe we become what we create
Whether that be of the light ,whether that be of the Way
Or whether that be something of cowardice and hate
If we mutter prayers for power, fear is the only god to whom we pray
A kingdom built with weapons is an empty, fruitless rule
No fulfillment can be reaped with an unhappy tool
Will we start to patch the wounds, the bloody paths, the crumbled plaster
Or will we become the unhappy tool and the weapon, the unhappy master?