The killer awoke before dawn, he put his boots on
He took a face from the ancient gallery
And he walked on down the hall
J. Morrison

AR-15, 100 shot drum magazine
.40 cal Glock semi-auto
Full body armor, riot helmet
Yes, I'm ready for the show

Yes, after all those years
Being the good, smart boy
Getting good marks
Always being polite
Pablo has finally invited me
To the "Magic Theatre"

Now all the Steppenwolves of my mind
Begin to run, teeth dripping with blood
Laughing and howling as they begin the hunt

Power vibrates through me
To the throbbing of the weapons
The screaming of the prey
Until all the magazines are empty

And I'm left alone again
Just the police asking the meaningless questions
And far away the Steppenwolf
Runs through the shadows.

I asked him to play the riff he wrote, out of a spark of brilliance, on his guitar.
And as I close my eyes,
his finger pluck away at the strings
as softly as my grandmother passed in her sleep.
(I knew she would love this sound-
she was always a sucker for guitars)

I close my eyes and hum a melody.
He closes his eyes and strums.
And for a moment I am with her again,
clinging to the last bit of memory I have left of her.

I finally get to tell her goodbye.