by Nick Gisburne
When he killed me I was certainly upset,
But I figured there was nothing I could do,
Till an angel said, “You’re not quite finished yet.
Take a second chance. I made it, just for you.”
In a moment, resurrected, full of life,
I was standing on a busy city street.
In a bloody hand I held a bloody knife,
With a bloody body bleeding at my feet.
As I wondered how the victim stole my suit,
In a flash I saw the murdered man was me.
“Drop the weapon! Do it! Drop it, or I’ll shoot!”
But I didn’t, and I felt the bullets. Three.
When he killed me I was certain I would die,
But the angel said, “Unlucky. One more try.”
