A Bouquet of Pistols

The bride stands there crying,
Her face is as pale as her dress,
Her make is smeared, it drips off her cheeks,
And her hair is a tear-stained mess.

Her head is a sea of churning misery,
Flooded with broken dreams and pain,
Her wedding is ruined,
Like a popped balloon,
Left out in the rain.

She wipes away her tears,
They're gonna be her last,
She's sick of all the nightmares
That she calls her past.

Her pale hands grip the lifeless black steel,
A tear drips off her jaw,
This piece of steel may be cold,
But It's not as cold as the body on the floor.

Who needs a bouquet of flowers?
Because after the weddings ruined and done,
Flowers wilt and die,
A double barrels much more fun.
There are two bodies now,
Where there was once only one.

Another life taken from a cold steel gun...