From the box counted eight starting from one with clouded thoughts, rising anger only wanting it to be clear. Loaded special 45, waiting to be used under surprise. While waiting for you to come save me from my cry, just waiting to collapse and die. Russian rulet with counted shots with lots of strength to pull the trigger. Sound of cannon to blow this man, when heaven is the last he sees, fiery hell he waits to bleed. No one here to believe, but God himself and his lack of steam.