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If i had a gun, i'd shoot a hole into the sun and love would burn this city down for you.
-Noel Gallagher
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If I Had A Gun, I'd Shoot

Noel Gallagher
If i had a gun, i'd shoot a hole into the sun and love would burn this city down for you.
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Gun Cities And Love

More From Noel Gallagher

Well, congress gave us a billion dollars to dig the hole, this gigantic hole. bigger, much bigger than the hole in geneva, switzerland. then they canceled the machine and gave us a second billion dollars to fill up the hole. two billion dollars to dig a hole and fill it up. that is the wisdom of the united states congress and it really makes you wonder: is there intelligent life on the earth? certainly not in the united states congress.
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Give me the gun." ranger said. i extracted the gun from my pants and handed it over. ranger held the gun in the pulm of his hand and smiled. "it's warm," he said. he put the gun in the glove compartment and plugged the key into the ignition. am i fired?" no. any women who can heat up a gun like that is worth keeping around.
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You didn't plan to write a story; it just happened. well, it could be argued that the next thing you should do is find a hole to dig. right? so you start digging a hole and then somebody brings a body along and puts it in. that's what a story must feel like to me. it's not that you say, "i want to write a story about a gravedigger." but you're walking along and "i don't know what i'm doing here in this story,' and - boop! a shovel. "oh, interesting. ok, what does one do with a shovel? digs a hole. why? i don't know yet. dig the hole! oh, look a body."
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What's a depression? the dictionary says a depression is a dent. and what's a dent? everybody knows a dent is a hole. and what's a hole? you tell me what's a hole! and i'll tell you that a hole is nothin'!
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I have just been to a city in the west, a city full of poets, a city they have made safe for poets. the whole city is so lovely that you do not have to write it up to make it poetry; it is ready-made for you. but, i don't know - the poetry written in that city might not seem like poetry if read outside of the city. it would be like the jokes made when you were drunk; you have to get drunk again to appreciate them.
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Too bad you didn't just take max up on his offer, four. well, too bad for you, anyway," says eric quietly as he clicks the bullet into its chamber. my lungs burn; i haven't breathed in almost a minute. i see tobias's hand twitch in the corner of my eye, but my hand is already on my gun. i press the barrel to eric's forehead. his eyes widen, and his face goes slack, and for a second he looks like another sleeping dauntless soldier. my index finger hovers over the trigger. "get your gun away from his head," i say. "you won't shoot me," eric replies. "interesting theory. " i say.
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