BLOOD STONES BROTHERS
And beforehand the lethal weapon toning, ringing its
loudness ring from kettle to drum - fade bullets
resounding off echo'd walls, small alley, dark cave,
The two fine fellows running, black boots and a
craven dark jacket, wide-upon at the waist, fat
handgun toting. Down upon the ground one
mantle's other bleeding, lies twisted upon the
hard cold ground. Soon Death come for to
claim another - no paperwork needed, just
come on down. This, this is some old
country of the pillaged and the pillagers;
a fast-talk nether world of sauce and
gander, destruction and doom. Walk
slowly only and with care those
darkened puddles near. That is
not water, my friend, but blood
your feet are splasing.
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