The Warehouse

There was nowhere else to turn

he thought the gun was dead

if a gun can be dead

it felt dead

it was limp in his hands

 

The warehouse was empty now

the guy had turned

they always did

a trashcan to the neck

was all it took these days,

sometimes more

 

Locked and loaded

easy like a tunafish

nothing more

the riverboat chimed to the sound of ten

 

Far away,

she dreams of other days

of a time when he was small

before the ten pipe master dared to call

everyone hurts

so they say

he should have been home by ten

 

The telephone rings at the crack of dead

 

A dream is a hope

a dream is a dread

she touches his face

dusty with lead

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