You shot me from the gun,
The bullet passed right through,
Such damage survive only few,
And that’s a pity, I am the one.
I should have definitely died,
I would prefer to be in a grave,
But bullet told me: You’re mine,
From me you can never escape.
Being shot is such a fatal sign,
It wasn’t God, it wasn’t luck,
That you belong from the inside,
To love and wound’s its bloody mark.
The song is sung. What’s done is done
You shot me from the gun.
Bullet
© Copyright: Татьяна Делиева, 2026
Свидетельство о публикации №126050405670
Свидетельство о публикации №126050405670
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