• Black as the night,
    Cold as the moon,
    In streets long and bare,
    The shouting of fighting rings out.
    The clash of metal,
    The stacato shot of a pistol,
    Blood will be shed tonight.

    Death prowls streets near this place,
    Watching, waiting, wanting,
    For those there to die.
    Death waits patiently,
    Bidding his time,
    Hidden in the dark, cold shadows of the night.

    A sword to the gut,
    A shot to the head,
    Death smiles his grim smile,
    Gliding forward to collect the bodies.
    However, to his surprise,
    One man is still alive.
    No matter how hard Death tries,
    He can't touch this man.

    Death grunts, frustrated,
    Having to want longer still.
    The man cries out, pleaing for Death to take him,
    To save him from this pain.
    The force of his life lingers still,
    But Death, knowing that HE might die,
    Reached out his hands,
    Took the mans heart,
    And heard his last words:
    "I never thought that Death could be this sweet."