Sooner or later, that arrogant cowboyed kid gonna take it
straight to the doctor to remove the skin between his
fingers. For a better shot with a gun or a better play in
guitar - that doesn't relevant. All that is relevant is a
quick capture of his sickness.
The doctor calls. Appointment is settled. Kid has cancer.
Braincancer. Soulcancer. Hopecancer.

Kid's afraid. While sitting in his room, sins make their
footprints upon the walls and ceils, cells, cells, sells.
Wordlove is a sin, and Wordhope is a greater accomplishment
from Fatelady herself. Nothing to lose or loose anymore.
Life's ending, soldier's still slaying. Cowboykid wanted to
make it to history books, not the morgue's bureaucracy. All
left for Littlecowboykid - lie called compassion. Wanna
spread it, says who.

Compassion mirrorhymes through the everything now. I wanna
hold you in my Biography-Black afterset. Kid's not lying.
Understood the falseness at last! At least, nothing lasts
forever long.

Please tell the cowboyed one he's sick. It'll make him
better wingless angel...
Kid's wanna just... love morningafternooneveningnight.
Wanna.. love herhesheit.

Did I make itself clear?
Answer the phone
Answer the phonecall
Answer, the phone calls
Thom'snotbyside.

Blue Casket waiting
I'm waiting too.
It'll have to wait two
Halflifes, Halflies