The Seven, they breeze through fast,
A sand storm of death, the timeless breath

The assassin’s red rose trickle,
Sliding down a silver blue shaft

Aren’t we bored yet?
Or just blinded by a flash of steel
And the overkill, that won’t forget,
How to please. The pleasurable squeeze,
Of someone's death.

Behind the masks,
Avian eyes glisten like steel,
And I stiffen, but it’s not me they’ll ****.

How old those eyes?
Where the fascination lies.

But it's not with them,
It’s us? Well me.

I can’t help but look,
I can’t help but see.

I watch, rapt through a hand,
A sword glint in moonlight,
And swoop clean through the land.

A head rolls, a feast for gulls,
The maggots and worms waiting their turns.

And all the time I watch and excite in the thrill,
That tonight, it's not me they’ll ****.