Milwaukee Hotel

Dying on the floor of a Milwaukee hotel,
As it was always meant to be,
Staring up at my bloodstains on the ceiling,
wondering about the damages and fees.
My suitcase on the bed is surely empty,
my killer’s tires screeching out from here.
Turns out there’s always a new vengeance left to find,
If you don’t die from the bullet or the fear.
I wish I knew that I was gonna die, now,
so that God won’t have to hear me lie;
because if I live, I’ll turn my back on being a better man,
And stay on this bloody path until I die.

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