Sleeping With My Gun

I sit alone edgy and scared in my room With my gun loaded and resting on my lap, I am prepared for the upcoming and foretold doom So, I again refuse to take a nap. Without my weapon I am panic-stricken I don't know how else to protect myself, or to make a stand, Without it, some have called me a coward and a chicken That is why, that I must always have a gun in my hand. I will constantly patrol up and down my living room floor While occasionally peering through the window's blind, I will check and I will recheck the locks on my door And every bush and tree, I have already looked behind. I will go to bed with my gun always at my side Who knows someone might want to harm me, I think nervously, In my home someone might break in and then try to hide But, regardless of that, I have never felt so free. During the night, I always have my nightmares And in those dreams someone is wanting to do me harm, Everything that I own, they want to make it theirs By killing me, because in my dreams I don't have a firearm. I wake up in the morning after my worrisome rest Now for me another day of fear is ready to begin, So, I grab my gun, as though I am in the old wild west I have been told that outside my door there is nothing but sin. How did our forefathers survived in their day Did they sleep with pitchforks or stones or with sticks, Maybe because of God and their faith all they did was pray Or maybe in their socks, they had placed heavy bricks. Now I wonder about the people that I pass by What type of guns on their body do they have concealed, Or maybe they are carrying a bomb wanting me to die So, I now look to my left and my right trying find a shield. I will always look and search for that probable assassin I have worried so much that I have perspired, The holster on my belt I make sure again to fasten Now I just wait, for someone's gun to be fired. Randy L. McClave