Three square figures swiftly down the velvet
Stairs; three tall figures in the wake of hard
Cold stares. The blood spilt on the slick carpet
Drags the dead banker's body's broken shard,
And of his fist an unkempt cop pries out
A torn up card. A clue for what it's worth
Tricks him to that late night bar, to that shout
He cannot forget. Back to the cursed earth
Of his past they await, comes the dark lake,
Dealing death, dealing fast. Hear the brittle
Trees in the lead flooded forest, they make
Nought of his escape. The puppet's brutal
Bargain brings him to their master's manor
Under the rain of northern hills. They strive
To kill, crescendo to the demeanour
Of such power. No one comes out alive.
Posted on 9th July 2015