Maniac
Sometime in the winter months
Of nineteen-ninety-five
I was crouched behind a dumpster
Exhaling cold white mist
And drinking warm brown ale
With a man at my side
Named Maniac.
He had a scar that ran
Like a marathon
The entire length of his back.
He told me he killed the guy
Who gave him that scar
But to be perfectly honest
I think he was full of shit.
And some moons later
We sat on wet sand
And ate a fresh day's catch
Of some kind of fish that I couldnt pronounce
And it felt like we owned
All of Baja California
Or at least that beach.
They found him,
Or so I'm told,
With his knife in his hand.
And allthough the police
Technically labeled it homicide
Nobody really bothered
To find out why this man,
Who owned a beach on Mexico
And befriended a boy lost in the world
And tried , if only for a moment,
To show him that THEY didnt have to always win,
Was shot once in the head at
Point
Blank
Range.
Another tombstone
And one more good man(iac)
Gone.
Of nineteen-ninety-five
I was crouched behind a dumpster
Exhaling cold white mist
And drinking warm brown ale
With a man at my side
Named Maniac.
He had a scar that ran
Like a marathon
The entire length of his back.
He told me he killed the guy
Who gave him that scar
But to be perfectly honest
I think he was full of shit.
And some moons later
We sat on wet sand
And ate a fresh day's catch
Of some kind of fish that I couldnt pronounce
And it felt like we owned
All of Baja California
Or at least that beach.
They found him,
Or so I'm told,
With his knife in his hand.
And allthough the police
Technically labeled it homicide
Nobody really bothered
To find out why this man,
Who owned a beach on Mexico
And befriended a boy lost in the world
And tried , if only for a moment,
To show him that THEY didnt have to always win,
Was shot once in the head at
Point
Blank
Range.
Another tombstone
And one more good man(iac)
Gone.