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Cold misty clouds rise above the grates The streets only illumination, tossing shadows like pennies Faded street lamps at each end The cold is biting, as I roll the collar over my neck I received a call earlier that day A new client, who insisted not to meet, At my office Just fine with me, my office scared its fair share Of prospects away So glancing at my watch I waited Under the street lamp, I lit a fag To pass the time Where was the dame? I was beginning to guess this was some kind of hoax Worse still I was missing a poker game over at the Pig&Bath The tube was a few blocks away, and sooner rather than later I should part company with this particular street lamp of no desire Not a soul in site, I decided I’d been played for a fool A pretty voice, that will get ya every time As I sauntered away looking bored in case anyone was watching I heard the click of my own shoes on concrete I also heard an echo? Was I being followed? I crossed to the other side somewhat on edge I had enough blokes that didn’t see my good side Not that I ever saw much either I quickened my pace Whoever was behind seemed to quicken their pace I turned the corner and now in a very fast walk Ran for the main street, passing an alley that had seen better days Something or someone grabbed at my trench coat All of a sudden, here I am, pulled into a dark alley I feel the punches, and what seems like a pipe Hitting me repeatedly, yet I see no one I cover my head, and try to keep silent No use humoring this lug with the pleasure of my pain On the ground, I feel the kicks into my ribs Blood starts to spill from my mouth, Or who knows, maybe my nose No concern of mine As I wont have much of a face after this brutal feast I hear the faint wisps and grunts, as I lay wounded Whoever did this sure fancies himself a professional I would like to say more, but I think is time for dreamland No idea if I am unconscious, dead or dreaming In a puddle of my own blood I lie, in agony looking above at a strange face My god, its my shadow! He spits on me in disgust Laughing, he says "finally I am free of you" You rotten son of a Birch tree At that he parts, off he goes to the land of the living Walking away with some woman that I feel I should know They laugh together, as I lie inside my own turmoil The garbage pickup at dawn Will dispose of my bones and dreams Some PI I turned out to be Murdered by my own shadow
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