Tyres tearing tarmac

The clients see the guns of the men at the door
They hear the barked orders as they’re pushed to the floor
Their hearts Icing over – they know they could die
They wish they could vanish on the floor where they lie.
There’s stress on their faces, fear freezes the air
Everyone’s silent but fully aware

Outside in the night street the cops have been told
They run for their cars ignoring the cold
Tyres tearing tarmac, brake drums screech hot
Doors slamming, men running, someone’s fired a shot
There are sounds of a scuffle and a short, sharp shout

A quick little struggle and the handcuffs come out

Grappling and holding – authority wins
The gunmen have lost and must pay for their sins
Their freedom has come to a quick sticky end
Their run has been stopped and justice transcends

Oh – would it was so! sobbed the man to his friend. His dead friend on the floor who did nought to offend.