Mike-Shinida

Let my begin by saying I don’t think this man knew what he had in store
He opened the door and found the bag under the floor
Not a peep, always working a lot, get the flame, aim, pop
Open the box and take off out the back of the pawn shop
Scoping the lot, hoping the cops hadn’t seen the plates on his car
He felt like he been hustling so hard like a demon he pumped a cold heart
Play it cool like Humphrey Bogart, put the rings on his chain attached by both parts
He did the drop, one ring in a bag, envelope, all the money he had
Left the money and the ring in a slow exhale
Two weeks went by, got a box in the mail
In the box was a bullet made of gold
Melted down from the ring, recast with two rings and a band
And he stared at it sitting in the palm of his hand
And sat down next to a picture that sat on the nightstand
It was his wife in the picture on his side
With the ring on the finger on the week that she died
As he looked in the reflection, at those eyes so red
He put the bullet in a gun and put it right in his head like that