Post by redemption on Nov 1, 2006 18:12:00 GMT -5
Disclaimer: I don't own Nickelback or American Dragon.
Side of A Bullet
There where whispers that day. Hushed comments. Some people cried. Some people did not cry, but they wept inside. Some people couldn’t believe it; wouldn’t believe it, really, until the day of the funeral and the day the memorial service was held in the dead person’s honor.
No one could believe it, because Brad, the Bradster… was dead.
Uncle Sam taught him to shoot maybe a little too well
Finger on the trigger, loaded bullet
He hit the stage so full of rage and let the whole world know it
Six feet they heard him say
“Oh God, don’t let him pull it”
Dead. Stone, cold dead. How it happened was simple. He’d been at the wrong place at the wrong time; caught in the crossfire between rival gangs while flirting with girls like he always did. He died before they could even get him to the hospital.
Why it happened was more complicated. No one knew why it happened. It just happened.
Please God, don’t let him pull it
How could you put us through it?
His brother watched you do it
The day was barely a day at all. Kids drifted aimlessly through the halls, gazing through vacant eyes that didn’t really see anything. Some sat on the steps of the school; a group was huddled in the back by the locker room, crying. No one bothered going to class.
Not even Jake Long and his girlfriend, Rose.
How could you take his life away?
How could you be so full of hate?
And when I heard you let him die and made the world all wonder why
I sat at home and on my own I cried alone
And scratched your name on the side of a bullet
Jake and Rose sat silently together in front of his locker; neither had moved from the position even as the bell rang. None of the students heeded the bell. None of them cared. Brad was dead… didn’t the school get it? No one cared about their classes.
Because Brad was dead. At the age of thirteen, going on fourteen really, he was dead. He had barely begun living.
And in the wake of his mistake so many lives were broken
Gone forever from a loaded bullet
And no excuse that you could use could pull somebody through it
And to this day so many say
“God why’d you let him do it?”
Trixie had been crying; not great, heaving sobs, but quiet tears, until Spud had draped his arm around her shoulders and led her away, probably to a place so she could weep in private. Jake had nodded, but gazed silently ahead without seeing anything. Occasionally Rose wiped at her eyes, trying to hold back the tears she knew she would eventually cry.
How could you let him do it?
How could you put us through it?
His brother watched him do it
Even the cheerleaders—the original plastic Barbies in the minds of many—were crying. The three huddled together, Stacy, Tracy, and Lacy all sobbed, clinging to each other as if the world had lurched beneath their feet and thrown everything out of balance, had destroyed everything they had known.
For them, maybe it had.
How could you take his life away?
How could you be so full of hate?
And when I heard you let him die and made the world all wonder why
I sat at home and cried alone and on my own
I scratched your name on the side of a bullet
The gunmen—the killers, in the minds of many—hadn’t been caught. Police were looking for them right now, but the kids knew deep down it would do no good. Even if the shooters were caught, it would change nothing.
Brad would still be dead. Nothing could bring him back.
Giving in, Rose turned her face into Jake’s shoulder and cried.
On the side of a bullet
On the side of a bullet
The End
Written in memory of...
Terrell, who was shot four times by a rival gang member over the summer. He died in the hospital. He was fifteen years old.
Guieneve, who died of intended drug overdose last year. She was sixteen years old.
Tiffany, who died last year when an electrical fire started in her apartment and she couldn't get out. She was fifteen years old. Her mother had been out that night buying a new house.
R.I.P
Side of A Bullet
There where whispers that day. Hushed comments. Some people cried. Some people did not cry, but they wept inside. Some people couldn’t believe it; wouldn’t believe it, really, until the day of the funeral and the day the memorial service was held in the dead person’s honor.
No one could believe it, because Brad, the Bradster… was dead.
Uncle Sam taught him to shoot maybe a little too well
Finger on the trigger, loaded bullet
He hit the stage so full of rage and let the whole world know it
Six feet they heard him say
“Oh God, don’t let him pull it”
Dead. Stone, cold dead. How it happened was simple. He’d been at the wrong place at the wrong time; caught in the crossfire between rival gangs while flirting with girls like he always did. He died before they could even get him to the hospital.
Why it happened was more complicated. No one knew why it happened. It just happened.
Please God, don’t let him pull it
How could you put us through it?
His brother watched you do it
The day was barely a day at all. Kids drifted aimlessly through the halls, gazing through vacant eyes that didn’t really see anything. Some sat on the steps of the school; a group was huddled in the back by the locker room, crying. No one bothered going to class.
Not even Jake Long and his girlfriend, Rose.
How could you take his life away?
How could you be so full of hate?
And when I heard you let him die and made the world all wonder why
I sat at home and on my own I cried alone
And scratched your name on the side of a bullet
Jake and Rose sat silently together in front of his locker; neither had moved from the position even as the bell rang. None of the students heeded the bell. None of them cared. Brad was dead… didn’t the school get it? No one cared about their classes.
Because Brad was dead. At the age of thirteen, going on fourteen really, he was dead. He had barely begun living.
And in the wake of his mistake so many lives were broken
Gone forever from a loaded bullet
And no excuse that you could use could pull somebody through it
And to this day so many say
“God why’d you let him do it?”
Trixie had been crying; not great, heaving sobs, but quiet tears, until Spud had draped his arm around her shoulders and led her away, probably to a place so she could weep in private. Jake had nodded, but gazed silently ahead without seeing anything. Occasionally Rose wiped at her eyes, trying to hold back the tears she knew she would eventually cry.
How could you let him do it?
How could you put us through it?
His brother watched him do it
Even the cheerleaders—the original plastic Barbies in the minds of many—were crying. The three huddled together, Stacy, Tracy, and Lacy all sobbed, clinging to each other as if the world had lurched beneath their feet and thrown everything out of balance, had destroyed everything they had known.
For them, maybe it had.
How could you take his life away?
How could you be so full of hate?
And when I heard you let him die and made the world all wonder why
I sat at home and cried alone and on my own
I scratched your name on the side of a bullet
The gunmen—the killers, in the minds of many—hadn’t been caught. Police were looking for them right now, but the kids knew deep down it would do no good. Even if the shooters were caught, it would change nothing.
Brad would still be dead. Nothing could bring him back.
Giving in, Rose turned her face into Jake’s shoulder and cried.
On the side of a bullet
On the side of a bullet
The End
Written in memory of...
Terrell, who was shot four times by a rival gang member over the summer. He died in the hospital. He was fifteen years old.
Guieneve, who died of intended drug overdose last year. She was sixteen years old.
Tiffany, who died last year when an electrical fire started in her apartment and she couldn't get out. She was fifteen years old. Her mother had been out that night buying a new house.
R.I.P