January 20, 2011
Your death wasn't in gray or black
there was no coffin or crying
there was no flowers or tombstone
that day you left, you took everything
you kissed the world away and silenced it all with the sound of a gun
i hear you still in the faint whispers of the wind
they don't bury your kind where we live
so I'll sit and wait for the next wind
holding myself together with a gun in my hand
waiting for you to whisper "come"

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