One bullet left, in the chamber it rests

One bullet left,
in the chamber it rests.

Above the trenches I peered,
in the midst of hailstorm of shrapnels and lead it seared,
where crimson mists of exploding pieces I witnessed,
of dying brothers and comrades as I lay in my weakness.

One bullet left,
in the chamber it rests.

I lay quietly in fear,
more so than anger and hate I once bear.
Confined by blackened hills and sobbing sky,
with helpless cries heard as they all slowly die.

One bullet left,
in the chamber it rests.

The rumblings finally ended,
then came the sounds of marching from hills descended.
Beyond the blackened smoke the shadows came,
Like the angels of death finally appeared to damn.

One bullet left,
in the chamber it rests.

A choice to be made while I am still sane,
to avenge fallen brothers and pride with bane.
With a quick aim I could deliver a killing grace,
of an unsuspected foe he would wear a shocked face.

One bullet left,
in the chamber it rests.

Or should I surrender to my weakness,
for my spirit's courage was absolutely seedless.
I would leave the barrel on my head it should lie,
with a gentle squeeze of trigger I will thus gracefully die.

One bullet it takes,
where peace I can finally embrace.