I am the man you once looked into his eyes and saw a future.
A father to an unborn son of true love,
A man breaking his promises of old age to his wife,
A man whom you will probably see several bullet holes in his chest,
and maybe two head shots, by the time someone is reading this.
But I plead, do not morn me.
For I ordered sounds of guns as Breakfast and lunch and
running and hiding as supper.
if you pick this note from my bloody Breast Pocket,only a smile should run through your face.
For I also served people breakfast and lunch to ensure the hungry Customers didn't kill me.
But it seems the hungry Customers will get away with the Bloodshed on their hand and me, die like another numeric figure.
I only make one demand of you,
Fresh Flowers on my grave Two times a year, and my Casket Pure Black together with a spear.
I know I am in no position to ask for Promises,because I broke mine to everyone who believed in me.
Remember me not as this bloody memory you see, but as a man who served breakfast and lunch to put Food on his table.
But the Hungry Customers took it all, and also my Life.