All the guns grew arms

All the the guns grew hands

All the guns loaded themselves

As the people all were banned

And the AK's laid around 

Assualting rifles in a row

Waiting for the trigger

To start the shooting show

Not a thought was had

Not a word was said

No brain developed

No guns were good or bad

But the bows and the arrows

Communicated through their need

For one without the other

A useless instrument, indeed

As the wind caressed the strings

Blowing across the bows

The feathers in the arrows

Heard the song of kindred souls

And back in time they went

The weapons, tools, of humanity

Where a stone became a killer

In the hands of a jealous sibling, We

For we are the motive

And we are the tools

We are the trigger

Sadly, we are the fools.