Snipers and bikes.

You’d think this man can carry the world with one hand,
You’d think he can never feel pain,
You’d think he has no tears that could ever shed,
He’d say you’re blind. 

His skin is made of bullets and
the sniper is his eye,
He never leaves without it. 
He never closes the shower curtains, 
He’s watching and waiting for his prey. 

Without bullets, he could barely lift. 
Without bullets, he could feel pain. 
With bullets, he could shed tears.