With no guarantee and a sky filled with debris,
His world turned and grimaced,
A dry hiss of glee.
To the underworld he curled,
His soul is impure,
His wings are broken with sin,
As he recollected taking that last sip of Gin.

It rang out through the night, the shot with a cry -
There he lay dead and beside him, his sobbing wife.
Demented she tries to move on with her life.
But...