Death at the Mall
If in slaughter there is laughter
Do we comb every womb,
Find what food sears the blood
To find the bomb before the tomb?
Death at the Mall
If in slaughter there is laughter
Do we comb every womb,
Find what food sears the blood
To find the bomb before the tomb?
Eye rhymes are tough,
he rasped through his cough,
sounding as though
he were in a slough.
It’s just no good,
I’m not in the mood,
my mind is like wood
tossed high by the flood.