Billy The Kid - Robert de Boron (ロベルト・デ・ボロン)

When he was young he use to play with toy guns

He'd say it was for fun but really it was the feel of it

He acted silly but Billy loved the appeal of it

Though its just plastic his roles got drastic

Sound effects would blow he'd black mask it

Around his neck would glow that classic Rambo medallion

He use to dream of Lambo's Italian Mafioso Commando battalions

He would lead them through the dark of winter

He would leave them when his mom had started dinner

At the table with his bleeding elbows

Even when eating he needed his GI Joe's

By his side guarding his pride

A soldier or a poet it got harder to decide

The fun ends as the evening unravels

A young mans ego so fragile

A now he's hitting his teens still drifting in between

Wanting to be a writer wanting to be a fighter

He's starting to wonder which was mightier

And found one

The difference between Martin and Malcolm

He couldn't see it in the outcome

They didn't live to see it

Now how come

Was the thought he saw the ones who fought

He saw the ones who got caught in their cross fire

His boss fired him and the cause

He was reading Che Guevara instead of him parking cars

Who writes the laws who enforces them

Born to win born to loose born again

Mortal men with an ego so fragile

Reading as the meaning unravels

Was it a bullet to the head or the words to the brain

That brought about more change

It's been a long time

It's been a long time since the toy guns and the acting bigger

Active trigger now he a real action figure

The military made it harder to decide

A soldier and a poet now the poet guards his pride

You see his views we see them on the evening news

We read the words found hidden in his BDU's

We loose sight with an eye for an eye

Were the last words written on the night that he died

In a book they gave to his son the day he turned 21

The day he learned of young men who have come to an end

Of his father who held his gun but held harder to his pen

A martyr born again every time his book was opened

And the mind that provoked it

Was it the words from his hands or the bullet from a gun

That kept a man alive for his son

It's been a long time