Peter Two

You sift through trouble, don't get frightened, he'll no longer inform on you, before you throw, and strew his intestines, let go all you loathe, silence is your hub, a source for your brine, hands that you scrub, laugh at the cold, hear the clock chime, they'll never know, or remember love, forgive his broken wife, she sings in your blood, before the river flows, check the earth besides, and all that he sold, you pull on your gloves, take your time, shoulder what's to come, drink some wine.