Adam Shirley

The Desert Eagle at Mercy Street

Ten minutes before I attend my ceremony

(Though I must admit, the suit that they gave me is horrendous)


And dear mother did not invite me to her gathering.

but I bow no arrow, I I heard it was a somber mourn

(I do not bemoan the cold)


And I walk into my house to see all of our picthres torn. 

My Yosolo, do you not love me anymore?


I lament my invisibility towards your presence in the latter of our liason


And I weep for my regret of not having certainty in your moments of hesitation


I stand, Yosolo.


Pay me with soil

And galore me in a basket of velvet


I have allowed the desert eagle to fly over my head

And to contemplate exacerbated the dread.


I have arrived with my arms crossed and my eyes have dozed

And warm rain falling when the doors are closed.


My Yosolo is dead, and I won the war


In a bed of fresh cut grass

I lay a far.


Cease the white roses.

And cease the pitiful weep.


I am at Mercy Street now,

So leave me to sleep.

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