Commission Margaret of Rune Factory

We've turned our hands to guns

Traded our thumbs for ammunition

I must forewarn you of my disorder, or my condition

'Cause when the sun sets

It upsets what's left of my invested interest

Interested in putting my fingers to my head

The solution is, I see a whole room of these mutant kids

Fused at the wrist, I simply tell them they should shoot at this

Simply suggest my chest and this confused music

It's obviously best for them to turn their guns to a fist