Fargo

That blood red
Looks quite festive in snow
Nothing round here happens
Unless it's on the devil's hour,
Those innocent and guilty alike
Who taste for trouble
Find a bullet with their name on it
To go along with Sunday's dinner.
All that Ice and cold
In years long winter
Frozen death preserved,
Thawing awaits
For the reaper cycle to continue
Knowing justice not good prevails
Show history repeating
And a common theme
Of red blood stained snow.