Regret is always bitter, and always comes slowly.

It was fun. Days surrounded by gunshots and smokes were free and exciting.
A life waged on a bullet was lighter than a feather,
and which way the scale of life and death tipped was not a concern of mine.

Why didn't I know that such meaningless death could be so cruel?
Why didn't I know everything would end up horrible, like this?

All that remained after losing my friend was hatred.
I cannot forgive myself for thinking that a life of luxury
and freedom, of being an outlaw, was
the only life worth living.

But I cannot put down my gun yet.
If I don't do anything against the very thing that took my friend away, the rest of my life would be worse than hell itself.

Friend, do not forgive me. I, too, will not forgive myself for living my life as an outlaw.

And please watch me. Like the raven that flies in the sky, I will take away everything from the outlaws.

– While burying his friend, a man who lived as a Desperado.