There's a shape in the shadows There's a chill in the air But he won't let you get rattled You won't know that he's there There's no way to do battle, when you're caught unaware One blink and he'll be gone and you'll be dead in your chair
Or was he even there Can you even prepare For a reckoning, a second into catching the glare Of a barrel when the bullet's already in the air Or the chemicals already have your vision impaired
As you try to place the face of that sommelier When you're about to win the race but find the breaks aren't there On a knife's edge, placed between the fumes and the flare The last breath...with a glove in your hair
He's an artist with a knife He will catch you by surprise There's no faster a demise Were you happy with your life Cause you didn't have the time left for it to flash before your eyes
The sound of a coin on the ground And not a shred of evidence will ever be found Your death will be swift, without any sound Ain't it tragic how a man can accidentally drown?
A poem about a monster, making his living like a monster