Show Teeth - A Soul At Peace lyrics

by Seth W. “Daniel, it's time to go,” my mom said. “You'll be late for your saxophone lesson!” “Coming, Mom,” I said. She left the room, closing the door behind her. I turned back to the bed that I sat on a chair by. My great-grandfather smiled up at me from the bed. “So then,” he continued, “Once the planes flew by, we knew it was safe to move in. We stormed the Nazi camp and won the day.” “Did you k** anyone, Grampa?” I asked, even though I always asked him that question whenever he told me a World War II story. He gave me the answer that he always gave. He shook his head and said “No.” Neither of us said anything for a while. I knew this was likely the last time I would see my great-grandfather alive. The nurses had mentioned to my parents that he had only hours left to live. But he had basically told me every World War II story he could remember. “Well, I have to go,” I said. Thinking back on that moment, it was very selfish of me. We were spending our final moments together, and all I could think about was getting to my lesson on time. I got up from my chair, but he stopped me. “Wait.” I sat back down. He looked up at me with sad eyes and said, “There's one more story I want to tell you. I've never told anyone, not even your great-grandmother.” I was suddenly alert. “What is it, Grampa?” I asked. “It was a cold November day in '44,” he started. “The snow covered our campground outside Chamonix.” My mind traveled through space and time to imagine his situation, as it always did. “We had all celebrated our great victory the night before, so we were a little groggy in the morning. “The camp was silent except for the occasional gunshot in the distance from Elsa and Wilson hunting in the woods. No one expected there to be an attack.” “Did the Nazis storm your camp, Grampa?” I asked. “Yes and no,” he said. “They sent a silent a**a**in to the camp to murder us in our sleep.” I gasped. “How many men did he k**?” “Patience, Danny,” he said. “He got past the guards by shooting arrows from afar. You see, this a**a**in was sk**ed in medieval fighting techniques, such as swordplay, archery, and knife sk**s. “He got past the guards and went around the camp, sneaking into tents and stabbing soldiers in the neck. He was a dangerous and evil man. “And then he went into the tent where I slept. You're lucky your great-grandfather is such a light sleeper, otherwise you might not be here today.” As he paused and took a deep breath, I had nothing to say. His story was too captivating. I stared at his wrinkled features, silently urging him to go on with the story. “I woke up to the sound of a knife piercing human flesh, a sound that I will never forget. They never quite get the sound right in the movies,” he added. “Well, anyway, I opened my eyes and saw the cloaked and hooded man over Jensen's dead body. “I watched, horror-struck, as the man turned to me. I couldn't see his face, but at the time, it didn't matter. As he raised his bloody knife over me, I knew I had only seconds to live.” He suddenly started tearing up. “Who k**ed him, Grampa?” I asked, my childish mind not understanding why he could possibly be crying at this part of his story. “Was it Meyers?” “No,” my great-grandfather said, choking back tears. “I k**ed him.” I couldn't believe what I was hearing. My great-grandfather had k**ed a man? “I grabbed my gun from my bedside and shot the man in the head,” he continued through heaving sobs. “I'm a dirty murderer.” “But it was self-defense, Grampa,” I said. “You were at war. You're not gonna go to jail.” I could see the slightest smile creep onto his face, amused at my foolishness, but it vanished quickly. “It's not prison that I'm worried about,” he said, taking off his gla**es to wipe his eyes. “I'm not going to go to Heaven to see your great-grandmother. I k**ed a man. I'm a sinner.” I didn't know how to console him, so of course, I asked a stupid question. “Who was he?” I asked. “The a**a**in?” “I thought he might be a Jap,” he replied. “But I pulled back his hood and saw the signature blond hair and blue eyes of an Aryan.” “Daniel, let's––” my mom started as she poked her head through the door. She saw the scene before her, and she left in a flash. “And do you know what they did?” my great-grandfather asked. “They honored me as a hero. They said that I helped prevent further losses and that I would forever be remembered for my chivalrous actions. They pinned a medal on me and patted me on the back. But I have never forgiven myself for the horrible thing that I had done.” “Is there anything I can do, Grampa?” I asked. He put his gla**es back over his red eyes. “Danny,” he said as he met my eyes. “Do you think. . .you could forgive me?” “Why?” I blurted out. I couldn't understand at the time why he wanted me to forgive him. “Well, because. . .I think I could die in peace if I was forgiven for my sin.” “Okay,” I said, still not understanding why he asked for my forgiveness. “I forgive you, Grampa.” “Thank you, Danny,” he said, gripping my hand. “Remember one thing: never, ever, ever k** a man.” And with that, he took his final breath. His electrocardiogram stopped beeping in tune with his heartbeat, which had become nonexistent. It now sounded out one continuous beep. Nurses and doctors rushed in, asking my great-grandfather questions that he was physically unable to answer. My mom ushered me out of the room and through the hallways. I had never been particularly close to my great-grandfather until he had been hospitalized months previously and started telling me World War II stories, but I started bawling uncontrollably. I cried all the way to my saxophone lesson. I couldn't focus during the cla**. I was more affected by the loss of my great-grandfather than I thought I would be. And still, to this day, I never quite understood why the forgiveness of a little boy would be enough to set an old man's soul at peace. But I made a vow to myself right then and there. I would never k** a man.