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Nobody Calls Me Chicken

I Am The Ocean

At first
This knife fight had begun
And with a straight blade crossed neck the other's done
Their intentions: Gone fermenting

And then
The blood (just) like the bulls
Began to run sure as will rise
The sun, end will/could/have come

Just as quick as their battle had begun
A straight blade crossed a neck
And the two became or becomes
The one
Ends came, run
(Run for it, Marty!)

(Sure I'll meet you there)
Seven P.M. sharp
Still checks his wrist
(For the status on)
His lack-of-clock scars

(Great Scott!)