By Brown11   

Lookin into his worn out hands
Buried over the face of this tired worthless man.

Snowed cover sarrows with no time left to borrow.

Taken aback from a swig of jack as the embers crack.
Hopin against tomorrow's battle on the land of Harlow.

Holding a picture of beauty once known, puts it back in its resting place to keep it safe, unlike the faith that slipped away the day he made the journey home

Amongst the stars, shinin on his scars it's just him and the wind in a land afar.

A cold hard feel of a metal tomb, strapted over his shoulder, thinking over and over about the woman with no name he barely knew and her growing woumb.

In a brief moment of self reflection, where being held turns into a dream self deflection.

Maybe he's cursed or it's deception at work, for what it's worth it can't get much worse

Walkin along in the land of the dead, clinches his fist with a hand full of lead.

They seem to be harmless, tiny and shiny not a single one tarnished waiting in perfect timing

One by one they enter the chamber, the air gets tense as they glare at their strangers

Fear separates the moment in time as the pardons wounded heart stops on a dime.

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