IF THE MOORS COULD TALK
The weather had changed overnight,
The slight breeze brought a granite sky,
Accompanied by light rain.
While the air was cold and clammy.
The car stopped as I pushed down the brakes hard,
Looking on I was please,
Beyond this road on the left,
I could see the horizon,
On the right was nothing special
but the black hills and the moors.
It was a landscape of gloom,
And the buried bodies dug by
Ian Brady and Myra Hindley.