Another slug, bam, right to the gut,

Splinters and shatters in the shotgun grave,

Yet still the victim stands.

Another slug, bam, right to the body,

Grinds against fired grains,

Yet still the victim stands.

Another slug, bam, right to the head,

There’s no coming back from the dead,

And now the victim lands.

A heavy dark and worthless sleep,

Granted by the amber creep,

Always in his hands.

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