Enter the victim, normally dead,
Shot, bludgeoned, or pushed off a cliff, on his head,
The crime scene's been tampered with,
Is the suspect an urban myth?
Its not an accident, it's murder, they said.
Enter the cops, brave and true,
Though motives may be queried,
When national security is menaced,
Their spirits never weary.
Their sentiments affect their work,
Though it always works out anyway,
Rules, restraint, and blind justice
Are washed out without delay.
The suspect is brought in quick,
Though its never him.
The information comes in seconds,
Their suspect condemned within the hour,
There's always a crime lord in the shadows,
Waiting to pounce, and then devour.
Every season it's the same,
A main character almost dies,
The crime lord barely gets away,
A cliffhanger is left to rise.