When I was younger I wrote of cops and robbers Killers, chases, drugs and thrillers One specific story that was my favorite chiller- Hitting big money houses in a quiet town, What a young burglar grabbed was something he'd better off not found A suitcase full of treasures not What he thought was heavy with cash, commodities Was weighted with remains of bodies. Can't risk jail, no, he can't pay his bail So when the killer came looking The only thing to do was to cover up his trail.
I never finished the story, writing it was kind of boring. I was busy drinking and exploring when One night I met a man, and he was telling me this story How he was almost caught robbing this old man's home And of the couple things he gathered, a suitcase was one. No- it wasn't full of literal bodies Maybe this time, some actual commodities. But he sold them soon after, to get money for his drugs and whatever else he revered. That he introduced to his friends that he turned to cold bodies with his endeavors. So my story plays out in metaphors and its true that rich old men can be killers too Like the one in my town with the corpses in the walls I wondered, if plundered, would the killer turn the burglar into another number And finish my story for me.