They were all dead
Bodies found
It happened within
A blink of an eye
Lots of people, I must say
The journalists
Were busy blathering to the microphone
The police force
Would not arrive until daybreak
The relatives
Bawled like babies
The crowds
Enjoyed the showbiz
What they did not know was that
He was still there
In the people
In the riot
Staring dead-eyed
At the bloodstained dress
How did I know, after all?
Am I dead? Possibly yes.