The sun splitting stones, he'd never been this cold
A traipse in a daze, he was what he was, and he was what he owned
All angles perfect, signal all systems go
A rushed scrawl of penance, you'll understand, don't we all in the end?
Knows the drawer, but draws them all
Watches, letters and diaries fall and scatter, his charge in amongst it all
Little thought then did he give to what they'd find
As he inclined the .45 to blow his mind