Unknown

Unknown

Life ended in a crossfire,
with a bullet in the back.
Death was knocking on his door
as the world was turning black.

No one saw a single thing,
if they did they wouldn't say.
Who had left a man like that,
no one needs to die that way.

Blood stains drying on the street,
lights flashing everywhere.
No one ever seems too shocked
about the body over there.

A lonely man who had no home,
worn out shoes upon his feet.
He never asked a single soul
for any help out in the street.

He had no place to rest his head,
lived his life quite meagerly.
Never had he been impressed
with such folks as you and me.

On this day his luck ran out,
he was dying all alone.
No one ever knew his name,
so John Doe is still unknown.