Crimescene - Richard Thompson

Broken glass, a broken chair

Lamp hangs by a thread

Scattered pages, spattered walls

Mayhem on the bed

Peace is gone and love is gone and

Darkness wins the day

A soul is torn away

A soul is torn away

A crumpled shirt a hank of hair

A shoe print made of blood

Phone ripped out, the shades all drawn

A life is hammered shut

And I should ball my fists and scream

Against the dying of the dream

But I can’t aim my rage at fate

Where’s the face to pin the hate?

But I can’t aim my rage at fate

Where’s the face to pin the hate?

Where’s the face to pin the hate?

A ticket booked, a suitcase packed

A diary on the desk

Free will’s just a walk on part

In this ugly humoresque

Peace is gone and love is gone and

Darkness wins the day

A soul is torn away

A soul is torn away

A soul is torn away

A soul is torn away

And I should ball my fists and scream

Against the dying of the dream

But I can’t aim my rage at fate

Where’s the face to pin the hate?

But I can’t aim my rage at fate

Where’s the face to pin the hate?

Here we stand around like victims

Waiting for the crime

Waiting for the butcher’s knife

One cut at a time

You plan and he plans

You sleep while he steals

Your wheels can only spin

Inside of other wheels

Peace is gone and love is gone and

Darkness wins the day

A soul is torn away

A soul is torn away

A soul is torn away

A soul is torn away