This is an experience which couldn’t be felt
Seen through the inanimate eyes
Which couldn’t comprise;
The strikes which made the leviathan welt
Were deafened by the man’s violent reprise

In the bucket lied a lonely, mucky mop
A bystander, not living, not dead
Not something between
It looked and looked and looked and looked;
The creation of another crime scene

For the self-proclaimed dictators of the Earth
There’s always something to be gained
Atrocious cruelty cascaded across the firth
Where lamented the family of the drained

Never mind the wastage
—The demand was never fulfilled
Nor was the need
For the certain mucky tool of hygiene
Which looked and looked and looked and looked;
The factory of infinite crime scenes