One shot fired, Toward the ceiling They said "this is a hold up, So everyone to the floor" And he thought to himself I don't do this anymore But knee jerk reactions die hard Mask now across his face Trusty yellow lighter in his left hand And can of hair spray in his right A quick burst to the nearest hands The gun echos across the floor Hands burnt and empty, swings To a catch, drag, shoulder to the ribs Flip, Smack, Unconscious A nearby brick, hurtled next To the second soon to be smoking barrel Deadly messenger caught mid-air, and a thud Weapon and rock hitting ground Sharper minded, we have a runner He makes it three feet from the door Before he hears the confident words, "Stop, or I shoot" Defeated by a his own sword, Hands raise into air