If I must dye I shall die with dignity Let not my horology speak of weakness I shall walk on the battlefield as a man What is life if I can’t die like a man. Every man must die, so If I; I choose it as a King. A coward dies a thousand times but a brave man dies once. I shall not go out in a cowardly conformity, I shall stand tall if I must take the burning bullet That sets before my death. I shall dye nobly as my brother Jesus who laid upon the cross, if we must die, I shall take your hand And we shall look upon the skies, as you my brother As I ; we shall go at one time. Let not thee suffer, take the last breath , that I Shall march through the skies; There shall be no tears, I the soldier of God, Their shall be no pleading, I shall carry the cross As my brother upon the skies, so I shall give Back to thy brother who died for me. Thy grave that lies upon my trust. I shall not die, as the murders who stand Before me, when you speak of my death, You shall never remember a beginning plea; My body is just a carcass; but my spirit shall Fly free. I have fought for a cause; lies upon the dark; the inner man shall not awaken from the dark, the bite of the bullet is much to hot, the valley is closing in as I take a deep breath, the warrior is not a warrior; until he has shredded blood, words are a hopeless survival if the unite is divided, we shall all fall at once, under the emancipation of slaves, who continue to live among the walking dead, I shall not bow over. No one recognize the warriors, because many have never fought a war, only wisdom brings calm to the pain, nevertheless the dead soul has know compassion only to self, Oh what a bitter taste of brim, but the spirit of God walks us through the fire, peace and blessings my brother warrior. It is not the pain of the burning bullets, But the smell of instant death, The black trains as it rides slowly, To take me to the other side, It is not the lead that burns through my body, But the tears that shall flow from my mothers eyes, It’s not the coldness of my brother, Who kill me because he feels that he can, Dark as the night that the blood runs From the leaded bullets upon my chest. Know man knows the battle of war Until he has bit the bullet of death; It is not the horror that sets before me, However, the image a King has died, in those terrifying screams of death around us that remind me; another tribe has passed on. Plunge in a black body bag, another one out the way The hidden darkness that surface the face of a snake, Never realizing death for death, nevertheless one might Live upon the earth, and one whom moved on to a better place. The wind, the storm, the sun, waves fare well, it is not the satisfied look in my brothers eyes, he have Killed his brother, no sympathy that he express, The devils children have struck again, oh what a bitter Spaceman of a dead mind, who cannot control, the Leaded bullet of death, which rises upon the mid night Horror that lye upon my chest, the screams of thy mother Thy have killed my son. The rose have cuddled in a fetal position I shall never forget, the pain of thy birth, She have know position her self to the same event; those steady and merciless black fingers, with the hand on the trigger, know mercy, upon the beaded eyes of death, holding the darkness, that seeks my death; hell gaze me in the eyes, as the assassins plan my death, I have moved on, but unto I shall leave, I shall return; I shall live within the mind of; The assassins who stood before my death, If thy take thy life, thy take ones own, Eye for and Eye, tooth for a tooth, I shall return, I take my journey on the Black train who slowly drives upon my Space, the black smoke that spreads upon The skies, the engine call no return. And addictive drug call power, And anecdote call murder, a mind call Destruction, bullets call deliverance, Black trains call desire. I shall not die, the carcass is just a frame, I shall return when God gives the word, The brutal of the beast, has set a trap for Thee, the only pain I feel, the tears upon My mama’s face, the black dragon, Shall feel the whip of his own Dis regards, I am not dead the spirit cried from the grave.