Even the dead tell stories, Horrors that have happened, Proof that humanity is sick, Evidence lies in their wake, Fingerprints, footprints, Gunpowder, blood splatters, Weapons, and even hairs! Evidence comes in many forms, Each telling their own Part of the story. A body found in the woods, Blood leaking From a hole in the head, Gunpowder mixed with the blood. Footprints are found roughly 10 feet away, Embedded in the mud. A gun lies next to them, Recently fired, Hot to the touch. This evidence paints a picture Of a deadly attack. The body alone says a lot, Like how the victim was being chased Until they were shot Dead, A bullet in the head. The weapon was obviously the gun, But who does the gun belong to? Fingerprints answer the question. Checking the prints left on the gun Against the prints already in our system, We find a match, Time to make the catch. In pursuit of the culprit, Hunting them down, Day in, day out, Until we find out Where they are at. Eventually, we make the arrest, Doing our best To bring the victim peace And the culprit to justice In the court of law. The dead may not speak, But they sure can tell stories.