The Roses Outside Grow Suspiciously Red

A horrid scream disturbs the silence of the afternoon The killer returns under cover of a crescent moon The deed is hidden and the evidence is buried deep It is a secret that the walls, now scrubbed, will always keep And when the police, foiled by ineptitude abandon the deceased The killer goes free to do it all again No-one will ever locate the remains, the killer's free to enjoy all the ill-gotten gains No witnesses but the ghosts in their head, while the roses outside grow suspiciously red The victim's lover stops the killer for an idle word Discussing rumours of new evidence they'd overheard Raising suspicion of suspicion of potential proof The killer fears this thread, if pulled, will lead right to the truth So later on that night, in black vinyl masquerade They take another life and the cycle starts again Thanks to some forethought preceeding the act, the clues point to a sex maniac; a convenient rube who will soon turn up dead, while the roses outside grow suspiciously red Paranoia cuts the celebration rather short Free for now, but how much extra time was really bought? The answer comes more swiftly than even the killer thought When confronted by the police knocking at the door At the sight of a gun the killer knows the game is up! And then they turn to run; too slow to not be blown away! But this was a case of mistaken ID, the police realise when they gather to see Our killer's face coincidentally aligns with the perpetrator of a different crime The sergeant recieved a major slap on the wrist for an innocent life so deftly dismissed That was the wrong one to blast in the head, but the roses outside grow suspiciously red