Shoot me where she lies

Sir, let the bullets not cheer in a closed room and shout off nails from thy roof

Let them boom in the open fields

Where she lies

Sir, wrestle me not to the ground

waste not your strength hitting me with the butt of your AK or pin me to the ground

Let me lie down voluntary on my belly instead and let you dig holes into back of my body too my brains off 

For I want to kiss the land she lays at before the sands of my last breath are on my nostrils where she lies

Sir, do not pick me off red light greenlight from within fronts, middle or somewhere in a group of rowdy youthful protesters

Peace me off quietly before you dismantle me to thousands of pieces-from where she lies

Sir, shoot me only by my mothers grave, in her presence

So that the news headlines you brave

And live me a childish 'deaf' protester whose tax money bought the bullets took his life with lying at one of the ribs of my mothers grave where she lies.......