Murder Ballad.

Though I know not of love,
There is no life without death.
The sun is almost rising
And yesterday is not.

Strawberries under my feet.
Broken glass in the hearth.
The morning bird has sung her song
For all teary-eyed men to hear.

I am not alone in this room anymore
As the smell of wine begins to fade.
I am not the only one anymore
As the stench of blood begins to set.