You scared me, not because you got a gun, a fucking gun, like a mâle,
i don't show you the way, but of your own skill not to use it
to make harm, but of for the revenge for the bad that happened
to you, but of your feelings are mourning in the fields of Gettysburg,
with a flying pilot in your back, and a lift of trade in your
left hand, one for the death, one for the dead passions.
