I never have discovered exactly why it is you said that to me. All I know is that it didn't really but a second to turn around and shoot me down. Four words were the bullets, and the holes they left just won't heal.
There's some small part of me wishes you'd come on back to finish the job, just so I could get a look at your face one last time while I was dying. But that ain't like you. Only time you ever turned around was just that once, to shoot me down.
Sometimes, when the wind is fit to tear grass out the ground, you can hear it singing though my open heart. Don't mind it much. It reminds me of you.
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