Ceasefire

Bullets from lungs
that fly from the tongue
or get written on paper
to get swallowed up later
Like drips from a faucet
You can't smother or stop it
It's a magic so fickle
it can flood, it can trickle
Some use them as weapons,
some for finding direction
But no matter the start,
from brain or from heart
As long as there's words,
the world will still turn

Passion or none,
we     are     one