Gipsy was a painter riding trains from Mexicana, said he’s going to be a legend from the dates that he survived. Barrio employment with a knife, for kill enjoyment, said he to the hood consortium, I am through with this life, okay. Oh no it’s not okay. For an inch of powder when I was a little feller, I watched Willie Nelson snort a tube, in Juarez it was his vice. It really doesn’t matter where I travel in this manner, my family of La Linea will gather for my life. Gipsy not a fortune, just a killer who will not torture, comes into the land of living, just to take his one last ride. Nothing ever easy, see the teeny honey’s pleasing, don’t you know my mother sold my sister when she was just nine.

So you see here mister, I can talk but pain is clearer, when I just paint each splinter on the siding for a price. For your home of plenty, I would, make it look rewarding, I would change the world, here for you, and I would make your house look real nice.

He paints into the day, the primer takes the blue to grey, and then the sun does rise, I find he paints all through the night, and there’s my house arrayed. It looks like Gipsy’s worth his pay, for all the street can see, my house looks like a skin of strife set free, a rose upon a sea foamed green, and Gipsy smiles at me. I feel so better cleaner than I used to be, the paint it took my sins away, you don’t really have to pay, it’s okay.

Gipsy leaves a whistling after telling me, he’s christening the start of a new day, no pay, mister, your house will be okay. It could be he’s the killer from a drug town on the border, it could be he’s an angel who just had his strife hid away. I doubt I ever see him, in this life he is a leaving, but I won’t forget his words he born upon that day.

I feel so better cleaner than I used to be, the paint it took my sins away, you don’t really have to pay, it’s okay. – 02.25.2015 – דָּנִיֵּאל

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