BULLET TO THE HEAD

Wet your bullets before you send them,
I like my death a little damp,
Let me gasp for air till end,
Don’t feel sorry at all,
Keenly watch me go,
Heave on me all your gall,
Act as though your tears will mend
Round, deep bullet wounds with your stamp,
Delve it deep till it becomes a gem.

Now, hatred awakes with the sunrise
And does not retreat when it sets,
There’s always birth and no death,
Overpopulated.
If we die we die,
Our corpse will be rated
As those who fought till last breath,
Our peace will come when our soul sets,
Guns to our heads are minor, we’ll rise.

LARDO