Your pride may course through but you still bleed red.
In a deep shade, it runs like syrup does.
The grisly wound pools in a crown of dread.
While crimson stain blooms, sirens start to buzz.
There you lay, face down, punched by scorching lead.
Eyes droop and drift as sight is now a fuzz.
Your name insribed on bullet’s blood-stained frame.
‘Twas humility’s sniper that took aim.