Three little girls

They all lived in Southport
Sweet little souls
Innocent children
Angelic roles
Wanting to dance
Musically they
Were shocked by a teenager
Wanting to slay

Brandishing his knife
Stabbing them all
A sick kind of brute
Watching each fall
Bloodied and shaking
Tearfully they
Blinded by his thrust
On this warm Summer’s Day

Southport was startled
The screams and the pain
Bloodied and maliciously
The teachers in vain
Trying to stop him
This violence and wrath
As the angels were directed
To their heavenly path

Starmer he visited Southport
To lay
A wreath with the locals
Joined the display
Did not say a word
Just rushed off at speed
To shouts from the onlookers
Angered indeed

They had waited a while
But what did he care
He was gone in a flash
Not even a prayer
The great new prime minister
Out of his shell
Under a cloud
And it seemed a dark spell.