She's wearing her "Don't talk to me" face as she makes the kids lunches.
  I oblige and quietly shut the front door as I leave.
  I drive into town before the fog lifts,
  I sell sporting goods - I've got a shop not far from Cathederal Square.
  
  I like to open up early so fellas can come in on thir way to work
  And daydream around the rods and reels while their breakfasts still
  warm inside them.
  Why don't you take a look. I'm proud of my shop.
  Almost everythings from overseas, you won't find a better selection.
  
  Look at the way this gun fits in the crook of your arm.
  To make a thing like that you'd need to know what you were about.
  You'd have to know where you were going and go there in a straight line.
  And everything else you'd have to shut right out.
  
  Can you see the man who made that?
  Can you see him putting it down and standing back?
  Can you see the moment when he said "That's it. That's perfect."?
  At a time like that you wouldn't care about your job,
  Or your mortgage, or the fight you had with your wife.
  'Cause when a man holds a thing well made,
  There's connection,
  There's completeness when a man holds a thing well made.
  
  It's Wednesday, so I do the mail orders.
  Nothing much, some oilskins and a .303 for a hunter over in Westland.
  And, Oh yes.
  One of those Ak47's
  For some collector down the line.