Cursing his servitude

His service slipped
From hand to fist

To down right rude

So they slit his wrist
And grabbed at his kit

As even with
This change
In attitude

He started to shoot

As he slowly moved
From room
To room

Until tomb quiet

Mere cinders of a riot
He laid inside em
And sighed

Stating
One last time

Goodnight

It was
Lights

Out