and eyes of a wrathful god.
My first impression of her
as I gave her a nod.
She came directly to me,
a stranger in this shop.
And asked for the impossible,
To make confusion stop.
So dark were her pleasures
so bleak her joys
the moon was her sorrow
and pain was her toy.
Among the rows of bottles
the vodka, rum, and gin.
She had come looking for a way
to expiate her sin.
Seeking here of all places
for numbness instead
I was not prepared
for what she had said.
I could help her, oh yes
if she would ask, not demand.
The tool to help her was
within my hand.
So I looked at her brightly
and smiled as I shot.
The only answer was death,
at least so I thought.