a car. 2 doors. 2. the old man sends the butchers. i'm ready for you.
i'm waiting.
the moon shines on my shades. the darkness crawls on my forehead.
the old man wants me in history. i know that lesson. i am history.
all because of her. agatha.
a cigarette. a tiny touch of light, smoke and it's done.

fucking troubadour. an idiot in touch with his soul.
like 1.000 orchestras without 1.000 trumpets in one's pants silent remains the night.
it's like that bad poetry in people's heads. that headache.
after all bad affairs all spoilt loves rant and rave inside:
only a man in woman's presence can say he knows what to do with his soul!

they're at the door. i left it open. i don't want a fuss.
my revenge is coming after me. i want it to find me.
i pour myself a glass of gin. i take my time.
they're afraid of the stairs. they expect a trap. they're right, but it's not there.
church bell. tough toll. it's past midnight. no god's servant tolls that bell.
the old man. i can see his eyes. his giggle.
he shakes like a whore after a hard night. a cashed in night.

the style is your jinx. the idea to knock her down. to brand her like a cow.
to leave a mark of love on her face.
like a final reminder. like an imprint. like stock in a warehouse of the hell.
lift up that cannon in your hand. lift that skirt, man, and put it in there.
like a glance - the only mark that lasts.

they climbed the stairs. i have a good death for you - be patient.
a little more ice. stirring. perfect.

the sirens. it's so early and i'm so late.
her body's cold. her blood kisses the floor. wasted love.
a fucking pool embraces her neck. like a note inscribed till finish.
like a crossroad in a mirror. a dice kicked out of game.
no tip. not this time.

the butchers carry snow under their shoes. they step on souls as if they're corpses.
10.000 pains scream for mercy. 10.000 salaries nailed to a cross.
i'm done with this gin. i need something really hard.
there's no reason for me to postpone. i don't chase a fucking symphony.
the trap. my way to stay on the feet.

all the love inside me. like a giant shadow of male suffering.
only a man in woman's absence knows what to do without her.
only a man at the attic of the world can understand the signs. and the way. up to here.
her blood. like a scarf of scars around her neck.
she has never been younger than this. she won't ever be.

500 in my hand. smith and wesson. a serious motherfucker.
the right way to awaken the sleeping gods. to send them the bill. bunch of mercenaries. like a vat.
10" bowie grazed the edge of my eye. classic.
one more scar. agatha got them all. i got the last one. fair deal.
he sucks the barrel to the trigger. the cylinder scratches his teeth.
the sirens scream. they aren't alone. delivered.

one more look at her. a drop of blood instead of a tear.
i didn't kiss her. ever. my only regret.
her hair. long hair. like a curtain before the final act.
without an applause. none of that.

i catch myself in the mirror. glass eyes. and a hat. not mine.
500's heavy. my hand ready to take.
that body took away a lot more than that. at the end of the road. a dead end. there's no room for 2.
i take aim at myself. a perfect aim. a perfect target. i look him in the eyes. i place it in his back.
a real trap. nothing gentlemanly about killing.
enough reflections for tonight. far enough.

i didn't meet her. ever. i was close.
i pointed at her with a finger. a couple of times. that's about all.
never the whole of her. never really her.
the face of love - this town knows how to hide it from you. to hide it well.
this town. this brothel of shadows.

a hotel room. a cheap paradise. a rented paradise opposite the mouth of the hell.
the 1st. and every next one. i know the way -
from her underpants to the end of the tongue.
i can hide it there. stay for a while.
while the seasons change. while hell itself climbs down upon me.
the nerves on which i hang. the scars i'm holding on to.
that parking lot at the corner of my memory - agatha.

it's happening now. this time is every time.
like the last cent at the end of the world -
34 summers, 33 autumns wasted. the bill's o.k., cash? sure.
light luggage. old love. a dirty platform. never the last.
i have holes in my head. one of them is yours.

this town remembers its own deaths. this town's mad about bodies.
one of them's beneath me. i screw her from behind. she's wet as early-spring rain. a cold rain.
she's white as december beneath the snow. my december. my way to deal with the cold.
what's in there? what am i leaving there? and why do i always go back to take it?
every time i swing. as if i hammer her on the floor. as if i'm leaving a signature. like a flash between two darks.
what am i? i'm not gentle with formulas. not me.

. oh come on, boy. don't tell me you're afraid of falling.
. i won't fall, kid. i've already fallen.

eyes in which the moon drowns. cute little tight ass. hair to the bottom from where i set out.
a breath of a goddess. a sweet piece of comfort at the lousy end of the day.
dinner's served.

this rain doesn't stop. this heavy rain.
the only tears this town has for you.

. put down that cannon you brandish with around. you aim too high, partner.
you build a bridge of bodies, but let me tell you - this river is wild and high. your bridge will shatter. like a tower of cards. your bridge of ghosts.
this cake you're eating isn't sweet. and the old man on the top is nothing close to a cherry.

this wild pack of lights on the way. these signs that lead to the last midnight - this is where the darkness lies. like in a grave.
this is where i left a couple of affairs. not even close to what i had to say. agatha.
i shared us with myself, not with you. i left us with, not without.
i closed all the exits to you. all the entrances in me -
lonesome comfort, but it's all right. tough pain, but it's fair. i guess.
some other way. some other time.

a car. 2 doors. 2. i'm ready for them. for her.
a cigarette. a tiny touch of light, smoke and it's done.