Bullet To The Head
What if I told you a true story, back when I was but a child,
oh how my dreams, were terrifying and wild,
When I was five, monsters attacked me in my sleep,
with my pillow as my weapon, my soul to keep.
I never knew, who won, or lost,
but I was the one, to pay the cost.
I’d knock the coffee pot over, water spill out,
all over the counter, without a doubt.
I’d knock dishes down, into the sink,
someone would hear, wouldn’t you think.
I, in the middle of it, did not hear,
the only thing I knew, was my fear.
On with the battle, as it did rage,
I was scared to death, at my age.
I took beatings from my step dad, you see,
a few times, he even tried to kill me.
Twice with a gun, through a wall, separate times,
by the Grace of God, do I write my rhymes.
I was seven came home from school,
ask my mom if I change room will it be cool.
I moved my bunk down just a bit,
just enough to make the dresser fit.
That night through the wall, a bullet found it’s way,
had I not moved my bunk, I’d be dead today.
Where the bullet came through was at my head,
I had moved my bunk instead.
The way God moves us, to protect us you see,
ain’t that what a Father’s is supposed to be!
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