Johnson
I was tired, you were reeling, delayed at long last
We were shot, you were seething as if this could not last
But inside they were speaking of hemlines and old casts
When they saw we were flashing some fashion of the past
Over time it fell into the back
A twisted crime and terrifying end to something black
We arrived in the rain of the pagentry and lists
You were stuck to the ceiling, dressed up and so pissed
I was fine, you were screaming, "We're picking up too fast"
Decent time wasn't made but we never had a chance
And over time it fell into the back
A potent crime and terrifying end to something predictable-something, one thing black