The Awkward Rhyme Scheme (To Match the Awkward Subject Matter)

Your body lay against the rocks,
Broken down with sorrow.
There is no peace here.
Only a fevered battle cry against the morrow.
Your eyes stark white against crimson locks,
There is no peace here.
The undertaker approaches, he stands and waits,
As a procession of other bodies come, go and investigate.
There is no peace here.
While it's their place to wonder at what may or may not occur,
It's not their place to wonder at what you were.
There is no peace here.
That is for the media to decide,
To determine with more imagination than any note, what you were before you died.
There is no peace here.