The Guns of Tim

If you were a tree, I’d chop you straight down
I’d eat all your bark and burn up your ground
If you were a stone, I’d pick you apart
I’d whittle away and break both my arms
If you were my words, I’d cut out my tongue
I’d pull out my teeth and ravage my gums
If you were my soul, I’d haunt my way home
I’d sign with the Devil and make Hell my own

Cause that’s what you are
That’s what you’ll always be
You’re good from afar
But no good for me

If you had a heart, it would be made of wood
Dried up and gnarled, roots misunderstood
If you had a conscience, well, that’d be a jest
You’d play like the victim, but think you’re the best
If you ever wondered why you were alone
I tell you that simply you’re made out of stone
If you think my words misrepresent who you are
I’d show you my heart, your name in the scars

Cause that’s what you are
That’s what you’ll always be
You’re good from afar
But no good for me

Notes