Repression of Life, Expression of Dead

Today I saw Mr. John kill someone.
I saw exactly how it happened,
as everyone at the bar.

I’ve been hearing what they are telling to the police:
“John entered and shot him in the head,
after that , he shoot himself.”

That isn’t my side of the story,
not what my old eyes looked.
It wasn’t as simple as that.

There was a man,
Mr. John is how he was called;
he had a wife, and he hate her deeply.

People say: “Behind a great man, there is even a better woman.”}
But I say: “Behind a regular guy,
there is a deceiver.

John was a regular guy,
with Muriel his wife,
a deceiver.

John used to sing,
to paint.
To talk.

Mr. John can’t sing,
paint or
talk.

John was like my brother,
was the best man at my wedding
and my baby doll’s godfather.

He used to laugh,
to live,
he used to exist…

until her.

She does sing,
paint and
talk, but

she sings the shouts,
paint black and white,
and talk non-sense.

That is Muriel,
Mr. John’s wife,
the deceiver.

I guess everyone needs it,
I suppose he looked for it.
I know he found it.

Everyone need a life,
there are times when we just have a way,
sometimes the most desperate.

He took his shotgun,
and saw Muriel directly in her eyes,
just to let her know what he lose;

he went out
and look for Muriel’s dad
just to let him know;

he found it at the bar,
the deceiver’s creator.
He didn’t thought it twice, and shoot him.

I guess everyone needs it,
and we need to look for it,
when you find it, is when you’ll know you’re alive.

Mr. John heard the music of caps falling.
He saw the color, in the blood.
He finally talked, through the shotgun;

so let me correct what they say it happened:
“Mr. John entered and shot him,
after that, John shoot himself;

finally Mr. John, the deceiver’s husband,
was dead,
although,


my great friend,
John,
was brought back from the dead, and believe me:

He was alive.