Forgive me, oh father,
I have just killed a man,
and I don't feel bothered
and emotions don't run.

Am I psychotic
with blood thirst?
Or a realist
simply dealing the hurt?

My contracts can run hot
with a challenge to my eyes,
I have scars where I've been shot,
but I fire back with no cries.

Blood frenzy, oh father,
A demon is within,
An omen to my mother,
Confessing my sins.

The overcoat,
ciggie from my mouth,
and then the arrival,
of all of your goons.

The bodies dumped,
the old and the youth.
Their skills of survival,
lead them to their doom.

I was packing a 44
from a tour of war
I'm hired as a mercenary
and took out your army.

Now, I don't ****
women or children.
but a decent bill
can turn me double agent.

I work for money bills,
against your horse's will
I don't miss in a crossfire
and I will jump barb-wire.

Hire me more of the dough,
to go up against your foes,
You are all gangsters in my dead eyes,
Fly me the green and your enemies will fly.

I fail and I fail again,
blood washes on the shore,
Ravens tear into my fresh flesh,
& I know sadly this scenario.

Is always going to be reborn,
into this madness
and the sadness
like roadside dead fawns.

Dreams are like icicles,
they melt to the flame,
summer-heat popsicles.

With our family names,
We aim to avoid blame
the heated glaring shame.