Cease fire, O insolent rain

This wretch begs you to stop

For you can pour for hours and hours

He can't spill a single drop.

Cease fire, O quivering leaves

This wreck begs you to stay,

He needs a hand to hold his, before

The storm blows him away.

Cease fire, O reckless pages

The writer can't go on,

His ink now spills in painful gasps

And it won't spill for long.

And thus penned he, his final piece

And held the gun to his head

Oh, he didn't leave the pages blank-

They're bathed in blood instead.