Sirens are blaring; officers arrive in blue,
Walking with bowed heads; words were few,
They carried with them their badge and gun,
Looking for evidence that would lead to no one.
He covered up his tracks; covered them well,
Hit her hard across the face; made her yell.
Blood was splattered onto the dew covered ground,
And the officers gasped when her body was found.
Her dress was ripped and torn; stained red,
And there was a bullet hole through her head,
Her mouth was opened wide; as if gasping for air,
And there were weeds spread out in her hair.
She put up a struggle; it was easy to see,
And her absent eyes stared back at me,
A tear was still rolling down from her eyes,
With mascara rivers streaking through her disguise.
"His footsteps lead down to the sandy shores,
What he beat her with were those wooden oars!"
I called out looking toward the other men,
Turning their heads, they ignored me once again.
Her heart beat was faint; fading fast away,
As they tried to work out the events of the day,
"Mystery at the lighthouse," is what they said,
As they looked to me; a bullet hole in my head.
