How lonely sits the city
Weeping for its children;
No one should be thrown away like trash.
Circumstantial evidence, they say;
No way to prove guilt,
But even dots can be connected
And when they are,
They look like the face of a mother.
Now we turn tragedy into theater
Selling crime and horror to the highest bidder.
We turn murder into insanity; we play pranks on the dead.
The Fall is complete.
God, save us! We perish under the anvil of a pseudo-celebrity addicted world.