Hook - In the Grave yard of guns do they rest in peace?

Walking through the grave yard of guns reading the tombstones and wondering how come,

Some have names, but the rest are anonymous, did they die in vain or were they slain to pay the cost? Did they die defeating or defending, or maybe message sending, warning shots across the block? Did they shout stop-freeze before the guns gut got squeezed causing it to vomit all over the street, assisting the escapist or resisting the rapist, or pistol whipping a pedo who tried to take a kid it’s just another day in the life of the riffle who arrived here, but in the grave yard of guns there’s nothing to fear hear. Rusty barrels no longer playing Russian roulette no longer taking a life for the price of a bet. Broken handles hardly recognisable with triggers jammed inside never again to be pulled.

I see many grave stones but there hard to read, so I remove some leaves and uncover what’s beneath. Etched with a hint of grief I read the type. Here lies the body of billy the kid’s wife, the Winchester 73 under the casket door, she was buried with the colt 44. Next to me I get an eyeful I see the grave of Betsy Davie Crochet's flintlock rifle. She died well before he did if you believe, everything you read about the Alamo siege. Next to it a Shotgun started life shooting clay pigeons, but ended it with a suicide mission. Took the life Kirk Corban so easy, It’s ironic the head stone was shattered into pieces. The next one I seen was a Thompson sub-machine Nickname ‘tommy’ born in 1918 became. Infamous in the prohibition, a quick trigger in the middle of the world war of liquor. I see the filler of heaven the most widely produced firearm ever the AK 47 fields and fields of identical graves plots, millions of lives taken millions of fired shots. The smell of smoking barrels there’s no longer a trace just the stench of death in this place.

As my nostrils fill up with the stench of death I think about the triggers and did they wanna be caressed were they happy killing innocent children. Happy to assist in hold up banks and bagging up millions. Fulfilling a destiny that they can’t control or change left in the hands of the deranged. Placed the palms of the revenge ridden often hidden, but what choice would they make it was given?