There I was,
in a bar,
drinking scotch on the rocks,
as a detective came in,
it was a slow night and the company of a woman I had barely met was wearing thin,
I’d had a few and she was tipsy on gin,
and the barman said to the detective this is the night whilst handing him a piece of paper with a date on it,
this is the night,
the twentieth of October,
yes, this is the night,
that she came in through that door,
and she staggered a little and she fell to the floor,
yes, this is the night,
and I knew things weren’t right by the look in her eyes,
yes, there was fear and surprise,
and she had a bullet hole in one side,
and I tried to save her with all my might,
but try as I may,
I could not,
and she fell into my arms,
and bled all over me,
but I had seen it before,
and death does not bother me,
except I couldn’t save her,
and I wanted to save her,
and I had that power in my hands,
a power that I never had in my hands before,
and what a terrible thing it was,
looking into her eyes,
watching her life slip away,
and the fear in her eyes,
but quickly she was gone,
and the last words that she said to me,
was save me,
save me,
but I couldn’t save her,
and in my heart,
when I look back,
each time I remember it,
it haunts me more than before,
and I cry tears every time I think of her,
and this world it is a cruel place,
a cruel place,
and she was in the wrong place at the wrong time,
and she was a Mother of two and a wife,
and much loved,
and sadly by her family she will be seen no more,
she will be seen no more,
a sad memory I saw,
whilst drinking scotch on the rocks,
with women a barely knew,
and to the woman who was murdered I raised a few glasses,
and a few glasses more,
and the barman,
who was tough and big and by the looks of him knew how to brawl,
he secretly cried after the detective walked out the door,
and I drank scotch after scotch,
until my head was spinning,
and walked alive, but unsteadily to the door.

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