Ammo In Arms: Revision Two You come to ammo in arms like weeds on vines the duel enchanted.

The day loss cost us passage to the base. I wear the day on my boots who have become a canvas for the lands clay painting. The day loss cost us missed veins of determined me. Looking around the grim mass I see a gun rise like a weed from the grave. Hell pass the end a pawn to add to their totals, a reminder that we all die as men.