High heat, in a Bogota alley,
A man lies still, a bullet in his chest,
The blood wound glows red-hot,
Life seeps, drop by drop,
As he lay lonely in the ally’s damp sweat.
Fire stairs tower all around,
sun scorched at their rusted red heights,
And I,
I slept like the dead.
I dreamed of a midnight dance,
in my home, gleaming light,
young girls decked in flowers and lace,
sharing their dreams with breathless delight.
But one alone sat there deep in thought,
not part of this joyful scene,
Why her young soul, who knows,
was plunged into the saddest of dreams.
Her dream, an alley in Bogota,
an alley where a friend lay un-seen,
a black wound in his chest,
seeping blood, a cooling stream,
As I,
I slept like the dead.