Cold concrete floor,
"Face down, gun on the floor bitch",
3 bullets remaining,
1, 2, 3,
Bullets complaining,
Thought control failing.

Clock counts down,
gun in hand clip to the side,
Lock 'n' load; lets do it,
lets die,
1, 2, 3,
Shadow figures move snappy,
Finger; trigger happy.

Another body, another bag,
beatiful inside,
2 bullets remain,
1, 2,
I havnt been this scared,
in a long time, bullets spray,
another crime, i need more time

mortal combat,
Death a certainty,
bang; bullet peels through layers of time,
nothing to count for,
red signs flashing:
Continue? 1 pound.

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