I became a cop when I witnessed my father's death.
I swore to uphold the law as he took his final breath.
For years nailing my dad's killer was all I thought about.
It finally ended when his killer and I got in a shootout.
I blew his brains out when I fired a shot.
But I didn't get any pleasure like I thought.
I thought that killing him would bring me great joy.
But I found no jubilation when that man was destroyed.
Maybe it's because Dad used to tell me that revenge is wrong.
Dad is dead but he's still in my heart and that makes me strong.
