can't seem to put my finger on it, yet all eight tend to try,
there's no hidden agenda here, just my thumbs, me and i,
"your wild nights have done damage," they say,
white coats think i'll take that news sly.
can't seem to pull my digit, there's only one that tries,
spun the wheel, one through six, can't be denied,
my demise tastes like metal and was cold as ice,
so i ended it once, but decided it twice.
"pardon my late night knock,
so sorry to intrude,
i've been selected to be the bearer of bad news."
"what is it officer?
what are you trying to elude?
i didn't see this one coming, not one of the few. "
"i never like doing this, but it's apart of my job,
your son shot himself in the back of your saab.
slow your mind ma'am and remember the laughter,
slow your heart, as it will never beat faster,
i understand ma'am, these desperate measures,
you will fall apart, but he wrote you a letter."
"dear mamma, there's so much to say,
you've watched my path and it's visual fade,
do you remember that time on the promenade,
when we were laughing so hard and fell into the lake?
please dream about that and not your blood soaked babe,
it's not your fault, the knife was a present that day.
forgive my selfishness, don't waste a tear,
my wrath was overwhelming, even for me to bear.
by the way, if i wasn't man enough for the blade,
i loaded dad's little snub nosed 38."
R.I.P. Brutha