They met on a train; bad things would ensue…
headed to Washington, a bad venue.
Bruno, it seemed, was a little cuckoo.
For murders he was hopin’.

They went separate ways after being onboard,
but over Guy’s head hung the Damocles sword,
because Bruno thought he would get his reward—
the guy would not relent.

Into the grate, wide open
Is where Guy’s lighter flew
Through the grate Bruno’s gropin’—
around him a crowd accrues.

Bruno killed Guy’s wife; Guy’d hoped to be single.
In Bruno’s pocket Guy’s stolen lighter jingled.
But in Bruno, spark of life no more tingled.
His future was post-mortem.

The carousel was goin’
fast, and off Bruno flew.
In his hand he’d been stowin’
lighter he’d plant as a clue.