Alan MooreThe Decline Of English Murder

She sorts out her hair at the washroom of Preston services Dries her hands under a notice that says "have you seen this child?" And she nurses her tea for one hour in the cafeteria Watching the truck drivers blind their fried eggs with the cutlery And english murder it's all over her face Just waiting until the right time the wrong lay-by There'll be a photograph With a bad 1970's fringe and a look of uncertainty Years later you'll know the name but not where you know it from And they've emptied the terraced row with compulsory purchases Reasoning that they'd make more from the ground with the people gone And so he shuffles the half a mile to the nearest post office When lads push into the queue he pretends he's not noticed them And english murder it's all over his face A low enough cold snap a high enough gas bill You'll skim the epitaphs And you'll possibly notice his name like somebody's you knew from school There'll be an off the peg verse where sad has been rhymed with dad And the houses in which they've invested their city bonuses Have increased the property prices and therefore the homelessness The scabby grey anti climb paint and withdrawn amenities In case socialising promotes anti social behaviour And english murder it's all over the place The bunches of flowers in pedestrian precincts Your average sociopath at least kills With a hammer or brick not with greed and incompetence And after two or three years they'll express remorse
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