
surrounded by blips of time
eyes shielded from the sun
snared by a promising crime
i sit and ponder this gun
this life of russian rollete
speeding with tremendous speed
spun wither to patterns set
turned ugly by petty greed
and who by fire who by water
all die just as the sun sets
who lives on through son or daughter
and who has but no regrets
the desire to be is crushed
as the overwelming odds of truth
and the pleading voices shushed
as the hero snuffs out his youth