|
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. |
