There are millions of guns from the west to the east
One for every American at least
They serve many purposes: to hunt and to kill
But when man murders man of his own mind and free will
We mourn as a species, as a society, as a whole
We weep for those lost, we pray for their souls
For Columbine, Virginia Tech, for all those tragic days
To cry or to question, we all have our own ways
Of dealing with the pain, some try to place blame
It’s much easier to mourn when our grief has a name
So when tragedy strikes and we don’t know what to do
We must echo the quandaries- how, why, and who?
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
I thought for some foolish reason, that this was a tribute to James Arness, sorry.