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Old Pistol (Or How to Murder a Man and Leave Him Alive)
Shagohod
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Kept the river to my right
The night I couldn't see past my hands
I followed screams the way home, lost my feet, didn't know what was wrong
They got the best of my father; he died with eyes pinned to the sky
My mother's hands curved in a plea, of tooth and claw, of blade unsheathed
My senses in sleep still know the fire, the acrid smoke of human skin
And red-hot steel, scorpion sting. I had one shot, I let it ring
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