It clicks shut with a dense partly snappy little sound
Chugs turn, bars pull in, and the rerun rounds round
Alarms sing their refrain as he walks through the hall of fame
For his fortune, for his future, for his name
"It's Pedro" he stutters. "P-P-Pedro, with a P!"
But the universe is at peace, but it won't let him be
"E-D-R-O!" he whispers, a chunk of slime in his throat
He swallows, he coughs, but the slime won't let go
He chokes, he breaths heavier, his mind filled with dread.
The secretary takes his finger in a bowl of ink - and it's red!
Red like blood, red like roses, red like the silk on the bed.
That his carrier rests on, now that Pedro's dead. |