Murdered

Murder, she wrote in coloured pencil  
angels cried  nothing but time abides  
where winds knock upon the window  
and there's no place left to hide  
 
So, don't you turn away just yet,  
for the crow has not begun to fly  
and the rum still hasn't gone dry  
 
Read, were splatters on the wall  
chatters chirped and crawled  
winters wept  wonders called  
 
Roses shone   a solemn tone  
and those whispers all just went away