Whispers fill the air
They fall on straining ears
Who want to hear the reds and blues
Of those who are not there

Smirking with delight
They draw close and near
Looking at the figure lone
Their snickers left in night

Crafting yet smiling
They turn and greet their (friend)
Loner, who is statue still
Is warmed by their lying

but unknown to the figure lone
His friend had drawn his blade
And left it in his back
For everyone to see.