Colors dance before my eyes, Vibrant and so alive. So mismatched for our dark purpose. An obscene game of "who-dun-it" Played in a perplexity of an abode. The weapons are before us, All clean and unassuming. No one knows which one was used, Or where they were when they did. So it's a waiting game. One with devastating consequences. But before we begin, The first question that must be answered, Can I be Colonel Mustard?
