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.