That
That incoherent chatter mucking up the air
What encompasses it? They wonder
It is both fatally loud and excruciating silent
Every note weaving a magnificent tale
of heroism, romanticism,
of hollowness and loneliness.
They traverse the house searching both high and low
Paving "creation" wherever they go
Nearing the sounds of hope and woe,
They scheme as to what to do
"Death" one screams
"Maul it" another shrieks
"Torture it" spoke one with a wicked gleam
Opening a door to reveal the source
There a boy or rather a demon,
Perhaps something worse
With a shrill cry of war, outrage, and disgust
****** ensues shrieking it must
Pwch! A searing blast consumes all.
"It should have died with pain"
is all they said
But when the light dies, they lie dead instead
"I'm sorry, I'm sorry" the boy mopes
For without death, he has no hopes