User Review( votes)
written by: Andrew Ndambuki
We danced the dance of death;
sweet-sour melodies from the revolver,
twisting and turning under the arm of fate.
Desire for money or for bullet;
tight rope for one or both.
Hearts bleed the velvet carpet.
Flowers wither. Aces fall.
Diamonds fade. Spades for the grave
The die is cast. We die cursed.
By greed for more.