The man with no control will end up in a firey roll...
No where to turn only left with the desire for tanquill peace...
A life with a short lease turns your head...
To look down a barrel of six hollow points of lead...
With one finger on a trigger and a barrel to your temple...
A short wasted life... Flashes out of ones sight...
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem