Paris at night
Everyone has gone to bed
The streets are strangely empty
Rain falls softly on the city
As if the clouds are weeping
For the souls of those who will die
Lights reflect in the river, misty
The trees seem to hold starlight
In their wet, thin branches
A small figure walks down the street
Holding a message
The messenger does not want to send
Reaching a tall iron gate
She slipped the letter under
And began back down the road
A gun sends out a peal of sound
Firing a bullet
She slowly sank to the ground
She has been shot
Blood slowly pools into the puddles on the cobblestones
Slowly the messenger drags herself back to the barricade
To die in the arms of a student
Who is too busy weeping over another who is not yet dead
To notice she is gone.
Everyone has gone to bed
The streets are strangely empty
Rain falls softly on the city
As if the clouds are weeping
For the souls of those who will die
Lights reflect in the river, misty
The trees seem to hold starlight
In their wet, thin branches
A small figure walks down the street
Holding a message
The messenger does not want to send
Reaching a tall iron gate
She slipped the letter under
And began back down the road
A gun sends out a peal of sound
Firing a bullet
She slowly sank to the ground
She has been shot
Blood slowly pools into the puddles on the cobblestones
Slowly the messenger drags herself back to the barricade
To die in the arms of a student
Who is too busy weeping over another who is not yet dead
To notice she is gone.