Awhile back, I wrote a song for my friend Scarlett, who lost her son Jesse in the massacre at Sandy Hook. 

The story is told from the perspective of the bullet that killed him, which didn’t get to choose where it landed. Could’ve been in a paper target or a twelve-point buck. The ocean, or the bark of a willow tree.

Or the assailant, before he had time to shoot.

The bullet had to go where it was sent.

It didn’t get to choose.

But we can.

Listen here
 

bullet
 

they took me from the fire

metal forged my skin

for what darker of desires

lay in the hearts of men

then they put me in a box

with others just like me

high upon a shelf

for all the world to see

i could have landed in a twelve point

under amber autumn sky

or in the old fallen willow

where paper targets die

but i don’t make those kind of choices

i have to go where I am sent

and i never know where I am going

until I know where I went

he took the box down in secret

and left me in his room

underneath a glowing screen

where he drowned himself in doom

until he had enough one day

when he took me in his hand

and put me in a darker place

where i heard the hammer slam

i could have flown over the ocean

in an officer’s salute

or taken down your killer

before he had time to shoot

but i don’t make those kind of choices

i have to go where I am sent

and i never know where I am going

until I know where i went

i flew

closer

and closer

and closer

to you

but i didn’t mean to hurt you

i had to go where I was sent

i didn’t know where I was going

but now I know where I went