Ready To Meet My Maker. Poem by Ace Of Black Hearts

Only time will tell, keep my hopes down and let my body propel.
Hearing the sound of gun shots.
Running for our lives.
Out of sight, out of mind.
Hidden in the darkness.
The body starts crashing.
Perfect disaster.
Washing the blood off my hands.
Visions of whispers.
Raindrops asking for an answer.
The empty call to god.
The priest just bows his head and nods.
I'm sorry son, just think of it as she is in a better place.
I can't believe he said such a thing in such god damn poor taste.
Downing a bottle, looking at a 45 and thinking I might just soon be coming to meet you.
My maker, my undertaker.
I lay my life out to you.