You wouldn’t think we’d have to leave Chicago to see a dead body. And then the murders began.
Turning and turning in the widening gyre
The falcon cannot hear the falconer;
Things fall apart; the centre cannot hold;
Mere anarchy is loosed upon the world,
The blood-dimmed tide is loosed, and everywhere
The ceremony of innocence is drowned.
When the mere murders begin, it will be an improvement.
If music be the food of love, play on;
Give me excess of it, that, surfeiting,
The appetite may sicken, and so die.
For 'tis the way that murders oft begin.
Cold hearted orb that rules the night,
Removes the colours from our sight,
Red is gray and yellow white,
But we decide which is right;
And when the murders begin.
John Jacob Jingleheimer-Smith
His name is my name too
Whenever we go out the people always shout
John Jacob Jingleheimer-Smith.
And then the murders started.
'Twas brillig, and the slithy toves
Did gyre and gimble in the wabe:
All mimsy were the borogoves,
And the mome raths outgrabe.
'Twas when the myrdurs begane.
Hope is the thing with feathers
That perches in the soul,
And sings the tune without the words,
And never stops at all,
And sweetest in the gale is heard;
And sore must be the storm
That could abash the little bird
That kept so many warm.
But then the murders began.
War…war never changes. Neither do murders.
That Sam I Am. That Sam I Am. I do not like that Sam I Am. And then the murders began.
Thank you. My mouth fell open when my brain came up with that one.
Sounds like the beginning of a great movie.
The Opera ghost really existed. He was not, as was long believed, a creature of the imagination of the artists, the superstition of the managers, or a product of the absurd and impressionable brains of the young ladies of the ballet, their mothers, the box-keepers, the cloak-room attendants or the concierge. Yes, he existed in flesh and blood, although he assumed the complete appearance of a real phantom; that is to say, of a spectral shade. And then the murders began.
so much depends
upon
a red wheel
barrow
glazed with blood
beside the white
chickens
beaks and claws
dripping wet
beside the dead farmer
their first victim.
Old McDonald had a farm, E-I-E-I-O.
And on that farm the murders began, E-I-E-I-O.
In the Middle of the Earth in a land called Shire,
Is a brave little Hobbit whom we all admire –
With his long wooden pipe,
Fuzzy, woolly toes,
He lives in a hobbit-hole and everybody knows him.
And that’s when the Mordor began.
Leaves are falling all around, it’s time I was on my way.
And then the murders began.
Da-da-da duuummm
Mur ders be giiiiiiiin
These are the voyages of the starship Enterprise. Its five-year mission: to explore strange new worlds, to seek out new life and new civilizations, to murder them all.
It can hardly be a coincidence that no language on earth has ever produced the expression “As pretty as an airport.” And then the murders began.
Here’s one only people as old as me are going to get:
There’s a holdup in the Bronx, Brooklyn’s broken out in fights.
There’s a traffic jam in Harlem that backed up to Jackson Heights.
There’s a Scout troop short a child, Khrushchev’s due at Idlewild…
Car 54, the murders began…
Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered weak and weary
over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore,
while I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping,
as of someone gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door,
‘tis some visitor,’ I muttered, ‘tapping at my chamber door.’
Quoth the murders, evermore.