This is one of the most powerful character studies in song ever written, by a true troubadour, of course. Sniper, by Harry Chapin, is 9:50 minutes long and is the title cut of his album/CD, Sniper and Other Love Songs, an excellent album, nary a weak cut. Of course, the words alone can never due the composition or his interpretation justice, here are the lyrics:

Artist: Harry Chapin
Song: Sniper


It is an early Monday morning,
the sun is becoming bright on the land.
No one is watching as he comes walking,
two bulky suitcases hang from his hands.

He heads towards the tower that stands in the campus,
goes through the door and starts up the stairs.
The sound of his footsteps, the sound of his breathing,
the sound of the silence, for no one was there.

I didn't really know him.
He was kinda strange.
Always sort of sat there.
He never seemed to change.

He reached the catwalk, he put down his burden.
The four-sided clock began to chime.
Seven AM, the day is beginning,
so much to do and so little time.

He looks at the city where no one had known him.
He looks at the sky where no one looks down.
He looks at his life and what it has shown him.
He looks for his shadow. It cannot be found.

He was such a moody child, very hard to touch.
Even as a baby he never smiled too much. No no. No no.

"You bug me," she said.
"Your ugly," she said.
"Please hug me," I said but she just sat there,
with the same flat stare that she saves for me alone
when I'm home,
when I'm home,
take me home.

He laid out the rifles, he loaded the shotgun.
He stacked up the cartridges along the wall.
He knew he would need them for his conversation.
If it went as he planned then he might use them all.

He said, "Listen you people, I've got a question.
You won't pay attention but I'll ask anyhow.
I've got a way that will get me an answer.
I've been waiting to ask you 'til now.
Right now!

Am I?
I am a lover whose never been kissed.
Am I?
I am a fighter whose not made a fist.
Am I?
If I'm alive then there's so much I've missed.
How do I know I exist?
Are you listening to me?
Are you listening to me?
Am I?"

The first words he spoke took the town by surprise.
One got Mrs. Gibbons above her right eye.
It blew her through the window, wedged her against the door.
Reality pouring from her face, staining the floor.

He was kinda creepy,
Sort of a dunce.
I met him at the corner bar.
I only dated the poor boy once,
Just once.
That was all.

Bill Wedon was questioned as stepped from his car.
Tom Scott ran across the street but he never got that far.
The police were there in minutes, they set up barricades.
But he spoke right on over them,
in a half-mile circle
in that dumbstruck city his pointed questions were sprayed.

He knocked over Danny Tison as he ran towards the noise,
and just about then the answers started coming,
sweet, sweet joy!
Thudding in the clockface, whining off the walls.
Reaching up to where he sat, their answering calls.

Thirty-seven people got his message so far.
Yes he was reaching them, right where they are.

They set up an assault team, they asked for volunteers.
They had to go and get him, that much was clear.
And the word spread about him on radio and TV.
In appropriately sober tones they asked "WHO CAN HE BE?"

He was a very dull boy.
Very taciturn.
Not much of a joiner.
He did not want to learn. No no. No no.

"They're coming to get me.
They don't want to let me stay in the bright light too long.
It's getting on noon now, it's goin to be soon now.
But oh, what a wonderful song!

Mama, won't you nurse me.
Rain me down the sweet milk of your kindness.
Mama, it's getting worse for me.
Won't you please make me warm and mindless.

Mama, yes you have cursed me.
I never will forgive you for your blindness.
I HATE YOU!

The wires are all humming for me.
And I can hear them coming for me.
Soon they'll be here but there's nothing to fear.
No, not any more though they've blasted the door."

As the copter dropped the gas, he shouted: "Who cares!"
They could hear him laughing as they started up the stairs.
They stormed out of the doorway, blinking at the sun,
With one final fusillade their answer had come....

Am I--there is no way that you can hide me.
Am I--though you have put your fire inside me.
Am I--you've given me my answer can't you see?
I was. I am.
And now, I WILL BE."

© 1973 by Harry Chapin

(all punctuation, italics, and bolding by Chapin)