JFK Assassination Novel  

                                                   The darkest places in hell are reserved for those who maintain their neutrality in times of moral crisis.

                                                                                                                                    -Dante

 

The Ballard of John F. Kennedy

 

 

They’ve shot John F. Kennedy,

They’ve shot John F. Kennedy,

They’ve shot John F. Kennedy,

He’s lying in his grave.

Buried in Arlington, overlooking Washington,

They’ve shot John F. Kennedy and put him in his grave.

 

Just past noon on a silent street in a not so silent town.

Unelected generals and admirals, connivers and spies abound.

Right to Houston and left onto Elm at the freeway sign.

Who opened the windows and told the motorcycles to fall behind?

Stand down! Stand down! The operation is about to commence!

Say good bye to the republic and common sense.

 

 

They’ve shot John F. Kennedy,

They’ve shot John F. Kennedy,

They’ve shot John F. Kennedy,

He’s lying in his grave.

Buried in Arlington, overlooking Washington,

They’ve shot John F. Kennedy and put him in his grave.

 

Shooting a moving man is easy when he doesn’t move.

The limo brake lights brightened on that sunny November afternoon.

The killer sharpened his gaze into his telescopic site.

All spotters at the ready,” ordered the transceiver’s deadly voice.

“Mr. President, you can’t say Dallas hasn’t been good to you today.”

Those who seek peace are reckoned to die.

 

Firecrackers cracked, and a bullet scuffed the Elm street road.

Don’t come to Dallas, don’t come to Dallas the president was told.               

The policeman assassin steadied his professional hands.                                                  

Another killer waits and knows where his ordinance will land.

Impact in the back, impact in the throat and the president grabs his neck. 

In Dealey Plaza the bullets flew- the limousine is a bloody wreck.

 

The Governor is wounded within this triangulated… bloody… hell.

The truth will be hidden-the dead will never tell.

 

 

They’ve shot John F. Kennedy,

They’ve shot John F. Kennedy,

They’ve shot John F. Kennedy,

He’s lying in his grave.

Buried in Arlington, overlooking Washington,

They’ve shot John F. Kennedy and put him in his grave.

 

A warning to those tweaking the status quo.

Stand down! Stand Down! From the American Revolution freedom once flowed.

In the temple a hollowed bullet entered the brain.

Those World War II warriors-here officially declared criminally insane.

In the autumn air the President of the United States was left unattended.

The driver turns a second time- the dream has ended.

 

They’ve shot John F. Kennedy,

They’ve shot John F. Kennedy,

They’ve shot John F. Kennedy,

He’s lying in his grave

Buried in Arlington, overlooking Washington,

They’ve shot John F. Kennedy and put him in his grave.

 

 

© 2017 The Robert P. Fitton Revocable Trust

 

 

 


The River Stops Here 

 


The river stops here, just down the street

I’m live and have arrived- to see death repeat.

In this frozen mausoleum where time stands still,

Taking photographs like a visitor touring hell.

 

Forty-three years hence and I still cannot believe.

A cold dark wind rose from the depths of evil.

It stirred from the corner of the railroad overpass

And continued a deadly swath atop the hilly grass.

 

This road is stained with our country’s blood and grief.

Fifty-five thousand followed the fallen Commander in Chief.

They marched into the plaza and disappeared below the overpass.

As I walked from Houston and Main to a sniper’s façade inside the glass.

For those guilty of his murder, justice in God’s court soon .

The eternal crack of the rifles echo from 30 minutes after noon

I possess a persistent pain that cries forever inside of me.

The river stops here. It will flow no more and will never be.