Dime a dozen, homicide
Comprehend such a crime
Unlikely for me
But it's my job
The purpose I've built up
Which can be thrown to the wind
In an instant.
But those thoughts are crippling
How shall I start?
Where do the footprints end?
Will they turn inward?
Travel onto rooftops
Muck occupies the ceiling
Trail runs cold
Colder than the touch of angel wings
Judgmental
Cold
Morally sound
Why did they do it?
//Yeah...//
//Why did you do it?//