The cars paint a vivid picture, all open-minded and frightening.
Open-air insanity is my hands, covered in the red liquid, which smells
of innocence playing with my head.
The witnesses and their cars look on. They don't want to get involved
with my murderous fists. The child on the road bleeding is too much of
Carrying a dying child to the hospital in the traffic, "Can I borrow
your phone?" No fucking reply!
So the dead lies on the road, the cuffs go on my bleeding wrists.