The dark crow man sits and stares into the oblivion into cold into nothingness; it's snowing in his mind.
|
He's created himself in his own image. Lust held for him means naught, a knock on the door brings no smile to his cruel lips;
|
the welcome in a woman's eyes holds nothing for him.
|
Alone on his haunches the hair raises on the back of his neck. His dead eyes pierce the night.
|
As his gaze falls down on the city it fills him the method ascertained, conviction.
|
He knows what to do and moves to commit the deed.
|
|
-----------------
|
The Subtle Arts Of Murder & Persuasion
|
| Lamb Of God |
