The sea just lays there,
doesnt it? I wonder..
if it will ever walk,
onto the street and talk
displaying the skeletons we have hidden,
in its saline tomb
in its abyssmal womb.
Brothers we were,
but he was the star,
the fighter,the brighter,
of the two siblings,
biting into the city when I was just nibbling.
I was the numbers man,
he was the gun,
Old McLeod's gang was wanted,
especially his two adopted sons.
And we knew our worth,
simmering in our criminal birth.
Today standing besides the Sea,
asked to bullet the life away
from one who hath stolen from them...my blood,
I stood there..aiming..shaking in the mud,
my legendary weak finger..my toughts began to linger..
All that remained now was the smoking gun,
Old McLeod never saw it coming,
his henchmen two uninvolved and humming,
some forgotten tune..and now lay in the flood
Loyalty was call of the hour..but priceless against blood.
Being asked to run...and not to ever look back,
he did just that...till he fell,
for someone had rung his death knell,
his brother..(may he rot in Hell!)..
I walked up to this...lifeless youth,
mindless ambition the gangrenous root,
that caused his fall..on him,now I stood tall,
the number cruncher,
the paper puncher,
fed the metal into his hand,
stood up tall and surveyed the land,
for which he had slayed,his Abel,
and he knew the incoherant babel,
Would in terror crown him,however unable,
Family was call of the hour..but priceless against Power.
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