Handprints on the wall...
They scream bloody murder.
A bullet had been shot, She falls.
No one even heard her.
Her scream was only a whisper.
The gun, it couldn't be found.
But the bullet couldn't be crisper.
One shot and she took ground.
One shot just to the head,
The murderer he ran away,
Leaving her in blood, for dead.
Now it's the detectives time to play.
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Just a some what "odd" girl, living in what feels like a glass box. Hello Opuss, the savour of my sanity. my little private world amongst a life of being watched and watching.
It's a game of whodunnit, And a very vivid scene, Was a murder in the kitchen, And she didn't even scream, Was it candlestick or poison, Was it dagger or a gun, And we can not help but wonder, Was it...
The bedroom smelt of sex and smoke, Of old cigars and passions broke. A broken bucket by the wall, Tangled sheets to break a fall. A splash of red against the bed, A book discarded, yet unread.
A police detective was investigating a homicide. As he questioned the on-scene officer, he learned the body was that of a young woman.
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