Tell me how you saw me die
and what you told the church.
Missing flyers hung nearby.
Did you pretend to search?
Did I die in Eden’s Bed,
the garden that we grew?
Was I tied on sheets blood red
by hands that I once knew?
Was I poisoned by your gold?
Or pin you laced with blight?
Did it make my veins run cold?
Or hemorrhage from my eyes?
Did I drive away from you
with brake lines that you cut?
Couldn’t stop and ran right through;
the twisted metal crushed.
Am I buried in the dirt
with worms that I once held?
Was it quick, or did it hurt,
my death that you beheld?
Did my daughter cry with you,
not knowing what you’d done?
Will she ever learn the truth?
Or find the empty gun?
