Murdered By My Own Shadow
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 ***
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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