crimson tide flows from the underpass –
copper tang affronts the morning air;
scrunch and grind into the ground the glass –
lies as witness – no-one else is there;
from she – no more alive – poor soul –
vacant eyes look on with empty scorn;
many lifeless parts make not a whole –
tell a story of a life forlorn;
appearance – dirty needles – shame –
filth all lying round upon the ground;
the rhyme and reason – who's to blame?
now upon our ears falls not a sound;
life is death an easy part to play –
gives us night once snatched away the day.