Changing skies and a bride - fat,
Strangled dead with a shaved head
and instead of her long hair,
laid aside on a high chair,
there's a crown on her skin bare
and the sound of her last prayer
fading out as the cops stare:
"God forbids if I do care,
'cause in case that I do there
will be no life for me from now on."
Lines so roughly whispered
had that much truth inside them,
they overstayed their welcome
and echoed in the air.
And so it happened later
when the police arrived,
they overheard 'em few words
when climbing up the stair.
They saw the crown and figured,
"this woman is a queen."
Two minutes later, Slater,
policeman in between,
just somehow spotted, dotted
her forehead was obscenely large.
He found her hair, her veil behind the couch.
He found himself supporting Peter Crouch.
He found a coin, he found the truth,
that is he won't regain his youth,
'til mostly, after all he found,
he dived into the underground
of what his mind subjected.
Perplexed by all uncertainty,
empowered by the strive to be
the man who knows the answer.
He rushed somehow subconsciously
and jumped into analogy
that lasted ever after:
"The second term's to the first
as the fourth's to the third.
The murder to who's
as the word to the bird
The fourth for the second,
the first for the third:
who is the murder,
the bird is the word"
"The stupidest thing
I ever heard -"
said the lieutenant -
"I think it's absurd!"
He mocked the policeman for being a nerd.
For herding a herd and extracting the curd.
He called him a Lock Ness monster shaped turd.
"Regardless of what other people conferred,
a part-time policeman is never incurred."
And all the conclusions he just had referred,
"deferred the police work by being so slurred.
An in between cops, no matter how stirred,
even the brightest and most undeterred,
improvise widely on what they observe,
misleading detectives by spreading the word.
Drawing deductions from what they prefer,
a life-time in prison is what they deserve.
Fading out rumors leave traces unheard,
justice interred, victims inferred!"Lieutenant Furred
obnoxious and balding,
his scalp so worn
it looked like a Spalding,
gesturing Slater's mother and sister
being side-fucked by his middle finger,
spitting out vocab enough to explain
all that the motioning meant,
went over scalding
and blew up the horn,
defining the morning
as violent verbal vigilant twister,
causing the volunteer rookie to linger,
and drawn into puddle of shame.
As pent as a Brent in a dent of cement,
in trend of a gent with a scent of dissent,
presently chief of police.
Liutenant Furred in attempt to prevent
what he considered a shameful event,
pulled out a gun and said freeze...
...to be continued