My Resolve is leakin out bullets

and it revolves so must be hand ammunition

I seem to have a trigger condition

POP.

Says resolve to the night

His voice rings out across sidewalks and dimmed lights

Then she drops like the temperature of  this cold winter's night

COLD.

She is.

For the dry soft snowflakes upon her figure have been ripped to shreds by the silver lead man

And life rushes like water out from her pierced body

One stream flows from her head

A second, from her chest

A third, from her leg

As she lies, no longer pulse, these streams converge into a maroon lake

Staining the salted black slate

I am the thief of her soul,

And now my Resolve is staring at me

Bringing himself closer unto my abode

He is ready to ring out  the same voice across sidewalks and dimmed lights

Ready, that I may descend into her same plight

Resolve and I terry

Then, sirens

New voices say DROP IT

So I do, in silence

Resolve descends emphatically

And knocks on that same salted black slate eratically

Condemned I am perpetually

Departed she is eternally

They will mourn her, naturally

Me they will hate wretchedly

And for ever  my  Resolve will lurk and laugh at me