The stealth winged creeper roams the night,
these missions of death, are acts of trade,
unseen footsteps, the victim's plight,
his twisted death , a score betrayed.
His twisted death, a score betrayed,
a vengeful crime before his time,
my battle cry in spite's crusade
he's left in slime at midnight chime.
He's left in slime at midnight chime,
a trademark wire that braids his neck
a piece of grime not worth the dime
I left my stamp, a warning check.
I left my stamp, a warning check,
the world will know he lived of sin
his life the price, I broke his neck,
I am the silent assassin.
© Jem Farmer 2008, 2009 all rights reserved.
Nice. VERY nice.
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