Shots Fired

You've been dead to us for so long,
but that doesn't mean you can stomp us into your dirt.
And now someone's latching onto the back pockets of my favorite pair of jeans
Inside of myself I feel a constant burning,
a kindling flame screaming words like
FIRE and ERROR
Purest hate runs through my veins
My eyelids are not what they had been a long time ago.
Regrets are best left hanging on the coat rack,
put them back on when you're headed for the door
I've got a six shooter and some rusted over wedding rings,
Seven whole reasons for you to leave the way you came.