Let's call this "part one." I thought it might be hard for someone to trace the story so chances are it makes no sense to you at all. Given that, I figured what the fuck...

The Seven-Eleven Works 24/7

part one

‘Wasn’t dark nor was bright yet. 

Changing skies and a bride – fat,

Strangled dead with a shaved head

and instead of her long hair,

laid aside on a high chair,

there’s a crown on her skin bare

and the sound of her last prayer

fading out as the cops stare:

“God forbids if I do care,

‘cause in case that I do there

will be no life for me from now on.”

Lines so roughly whispered

had that much truth inside them,

they overstayed their welcome

and echoed in the air.

And so it happened later
when the police arrived,

they overheard ‘em few words

when climbing up the stair.

They saw the crown and figured,

“this woman is a queen.”

Two minutes later, Slater,

policeman in between,

just somehow spotted, dotted

her forehead was obscenely large.

He found her hair, her veil behind the couch.

He found himself supporting Peter Crouch.

He found a coin, he found the truth,

that is he won’t regain his youth,

‘til mostly, after all he found,

he dived into the underground

of what his mind subjected.

Perplexed by all uncertainty,

empowered by the strive to be

the man who knows the answer.

He rushed somehow subconsciously

and jumped into analogy

that lasted ever after:

"The second term's to the first

as the fourth's to the third.

The murder to who's

as the word to the bird 

The fourth for the second,

the first for the third:

who is the murder,

the bird is the word"

"The stupidest thing

I ever heard -"

said the lieutenant -

"I think it's absurd!"

He mocked the policeman for being a nerd.

For herding a herd and extracting the curd.

He called him a Lock Ness monster shaped turd.

"Regardless of what other people conferred,

a part-time policeman is never incurred."

And all the conclusions he just had referred,

"deferred the police work by being so slurred.

An in between cops, no matter how stirred,

even the brightest and most undeterred,

improvise widely on what they observe,

misleading detectives by spreading the word.

Drawing deductions from what they prefer,

a life-time in prison is what they deserve.

Fading out rumors leave traces unheard,

justice interred, victims inferred!" Lieutenant Furred - 

obnoxious and balding,

his scalp so worn

it looked like a Spalding,

gesturing Slater's mother and sister

being side-fucked by his middle finger,

spitting out vocab enough to explain

all that the motioning meant,

went over scalding 

and blew up the horn,

defining the morning

as violent verbal vigilant twister,

causing the volunteer rookie to linger,

and drawn into puddle of shame.

As pent as a Brent in a dent of cement,

in trend of a gent with a scent of dissent,

presently chief of police.

Liutenant Furred in attempt to prevent

what he considered a shameful event,

pulled out a gun and said freeze...

...to be continued