Melody of Riot In the Wilderness of Oxygen

I am the six-cylinder revolver blown wide open...waiting for a target to eye. Pull the trigger, release me from the firing pin and rifled-barrel. As I fly...rapidly unfolding with ballistic velocity, sailing through the wind. With good aim, I'll hit my mark. Flying with cognitive dissonance, I'm creating vortices. Fly behind me and you'll fly smooth. Fly with me and I'll share it with you. Fly in front of me to get in the way. Relative contentment fly's with me...because I have no other choice. I'll induce pain, or I'll induce victory...depending on the side you're on...who's doing the shooting and who's getting shot.

Don't wave the white flag...I like a fight. We'll know more about each other when the blood's on the pavement and we're gasping for sanctity. Give up now and we'll miss the chance for completion. Let's compress it all and scratch to the bone to find ourselves. And if it doesn't yet happen...we'll reload...cock the hammer...let it fly...

The facts remain the same...only distance has changed.

Melody of riot in the wilderness of oxygen,
Mercy on the waterfall mist, in the middle-class sea.
Wounded in the world by a single twist of hate, it's all over now.
You're headed for the atmoshpere,
You're headed for the atmosphere.