Pendulum considers us foolish and selfish to keep going the way we do with guns in the United States.
This poem is only published here.
Pendulum Takes a Question from the Audience About Guns
Pendulum hangs by a thread
and he’s too tired to swing.
His heart beats with worry,
ticks with grief.
He says to you run. He says dig
into your rabbit holes;
he is done. He gets big,
blows himself up like a small moon,
looks down on parents left behind
and predicts they’re done, too.
Pendulum says wake the fuck up. This summer is hot
and getting hotter. Pendulum knows
he can’t keep going,
when all the gun cards
keep rising to the top.