Deep in the pitch

Of darkest, moonless night

They wait for my time to come

The wail of terrorizing fright

They will cheer for my screams

They will laugh at my pleas

Mercy, a toy to be taunted with

Sweet death, the end all agrees

The giant razor will drop

To sever a neck rather kept intact

My fate sealed by the magistrate

The morn dawns on my death, a fact

Restless slumber, a prelude viewing

Of horrors yet to come to pass

Lucid dreams, rusted metal flashes

Horrid thick sounds, heads roll past

I see the Reaper of Souls laughing

Gliding toward me with purpose

His scythe gleaming wetly red

Hungering for me, for my justice

As the sun creeps above the horizon

The piper comes to collect his due

This murderer will now face his punishment

As the headsman takes his queue